



















LADY ATHLYNE 


BY 

BRAM STOKER 

u 


PAUL R. REYNOLDS 
NEW YORK 





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Copyright, 1908, by- 
BRAM STOKER 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

On the^" Cryptic” 3 

*1 In Italy .... 20 

De Hooge’s Spruit 32 

IV. The Bird-cage 46 

V. An Adventure 56 

VI. True Heart’s Content 68 

VII. A Discussion 81 

VIII. “Look at Me!” 98 

IX. The Car of Destiny iii 

X. A Letter 125 

XL The Beautiful Twilight 138 

XII. Echo of a Tragedy 152 

XIII. Instinctive Planning 167 

XIV. A Banquet on Olympus 179 

XV. “Stop!” , . 194 

XVI. A Painful Journey 208 

XVII. The Sheriff 227 

JVIIL Pursuit 234 

XIX Declaration of War 249 

XX Knowledge of Law 270 

XXL Application of Law 284 

XXII. The Hatchet Buried 300 

CXIII. A Harmony in Gray 312 






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LADY ATHLYNE 


CHAPTER I 

ON THE " CRYPTIC 

On the forenoon of a day in February, 1899, the White 
Star S. S- Cryptic forced her way from Pier No. 48 out into 
the Hudson River through a mass of floating ice, which 
made a moving carpet over the whole river from Pough- 
keepsie to Sandy Hook. It was little wonder that the 
hearts of the outwardbound passengers were cheered with 
hope; outside on the wide ocean there must be somewhere 
clear skies and blue water, and perchance here and there 
a slant of sunshine. Come what might, however, it must 
be better than what they were leaving behind them in New 
York. For three whole W’eeks the great city had been be- 
leaguered by cold ; held besieged in the icy grip of a blizzard 
which, moving from northwest to south, had begun on the 
last day of January to devastate the central North American 
States. In one place, Breckenridge in Colorado, there fell 
in five days — and* this on the top of an accumulation of six 
feet of snow — an additional forty-five inches. In the track 
swept by the cold wave, a thousand miles wide, record low 
temperatures were effected, ranging from 15® below zero in 
Indiana to 54® below at White River on the nothern shore 
of Lake Superior. 

In New York city the temperature had sunk to 6.2® below 
zero, the lowest ever recorded, and an extraordinar>' tem- 
perature for a city almost entirely surrounded by tidal cur- 
rents. The city itself was in a helpless condition, paralyzed 
and impotent. The sno^v fell so fast that even the great 
snow-ploughs driven by the electric current on the tram 
lines could not keep the avenues clear. And the cold was 


4 


LADY ATHLYNE 


so great that the street-clearing operations — in which eight 
thousand men with four thousand carts dumping some 
fifty thousand tons of snow daily into the river were con- 
cerned — had to be suspended. Neither men nor horses could 
endure the work. The ‘‘dead boat*^ which takes periodically 
the city’s unclaimed corpses to Potter’s Field on Hart’s 
Island w’as twice beaten back and nearly wrecked ; it carried 
on the later voyzgt i6i corpses. Before its ghastly traffic 
could be resumed there were in the city mortuaries over 
a thousand bodies waiting sepulture. The “Scientific edi- 
tor” of one of the great New York dailies computed that 
the blanket of snow which lay on the twenty-two square miles 
of Manhattan Island would form a solid wall a thousand 
feet high up the whole sixty feet width of Broadway in the 
two and a half miles between the Battery and Union Square, 
weighing some two and a half million tons. Needless to 
say the streets were almost impassable. In the chief 
thoroughfares were narrow passages heaped high with piled- 
up snow now nearly compact to ice. In places where the 
falling snow had drifted it reached to the level of, and 
sometimes above, the first floor windows. 

As the Cryptic forced her way through the rustling 
masses of drifting ice the little company of passengers stood 
on deck watching at first the ferry-boats pounding and ham- 
mering their strenuous way into the docks formed by the 
floating guards or screens by whose aid they shouldered 
themselves to their landing stages; and later on, when the 
great ship following the wide circle of the steering buoys, 
opened up the entrance of Sandy Hook, the great circle 
around them of Arctic desolation. Away beyond the sweep 
of the river and ocean currents the sea was frozen and shim- 
mering with a carpet of pure snow, W’hose luminous dreari- 
ness not even the pall of faint chill mist could subdue. Here 
and there, to north and south, were many vessels frozen in, 
spar and rope being roughly outlined with clinging snow. 
The hills of Long Island and Staten Island and the distant 


ON THE ‘‘CRYPTIC” 5 

ranges of New Jersey stood out white and stark into the 
sky of steel. 

All was grimly, deadly silent so that the throb of the 
engines, the rustle and clatter of the drifting ice-pack, as 
the great vessel, getting faster way as the current became 
more open, or the hard scrunch as she cut through some 
solid floating ice-field, sounded like something unnatural — 
some sound of the living amid a world of the dead. 

When the Narrows had been reached and passed and 
the flag of smoke from the great chimney of the Standard 
Oil Refining Works lay far behind on the starboard quarter ; 
when Fire Island was dropping down on the western 
horizon, all became changed as though the wand of some 
beneficent fairy had obliterated all that was ugly or noxious 
in its beneficent sweep. Sky and wave were blue; the sun 
beamed out; and the white-breasted gulls sweeping above 
and around the ship seemed like the spirit of nature freed 
from the thrall of the Ice Queen. 

Naturally the spirits of the travellers rose. They too 
found their wings free; and the hum and clash of happy 
noises arose. Unconsciously there was a general unbend- 
ing each to the other. All the stiffness which is apt to 
characterize a newly gathered company of travellers seemed 
to melt in the welcome sunshine ; within an hour there was 
established an easiness of acquaintanceship generally to be 
found only towards the close of a voyage. The happiness 
coming with the sunshine and the open water, and the re- 
lief from the appalling gloom of the blizzard, had made 
the freed captives into friends. 

At such moments like gravitates to like. The young to 
young; the grave to the grave; the pleasure-lovers to their 
kind ; free sex to its free opposite. On the Cryptic the com- 
plement of passengers was so small that the choice of kinds 
was limited. In all there were only some thirty passengers. 
None but adventurous spirits, or those under stress of 
need, challenged a possible recurrence of Atlantic dangers 


6 


LADY ATHLYNE 


which had marked the beginning of the month, when ship 
after ship of the giant liners arrived in port maimed and 
battered and listed with the weight of snow and frozen 
spray and fog which they carried. 

Naturally the ladies were greatly in the minority. After 
all, travel is as a rule, men’s work ; and this was no time for 
pleasure trips. The dominant feeling on board on this 
subject was voiced in a phrase used in the Chart room where 
the Captain was genially pointing out the course to a tall, 
proud old man. The latter, with an uneasy gesture of 
stroking his long w'hite moustache, which seemed to be a 
custom or habit at certain moments of emotion, said: 

‘‘And I quite agree with you, seh; I don’t mind men 
travelling in any weather. That’s man’s share. But why 
in hell, seh, women want to go gallivantin’ round the world 
in weather that would make any respectable dog want to 
lie quiet by the fireside, I don’t know. Women should 

learn ” He was interrupted by a tall young girl who 

burst into the room without waiting for a reply to her 
breathless: “May I come in?” 

“I saw^ you go in. Daddy, and I wanted to see the maps 
too; so I raced for all I was worth. And now I find I’ve 
come just in time to get another lesson about what women 
ought to do!” As she spoke she linked her arm in her 
father’s wdth a fearlessness and security which showed that 
none of the natural sternness which was proclaimed in the old 
man’s clear-cut face was specially reserved for her. She 
squeezed his arm in a loving way and looked up in his face 
saucily — the way of an affectionate young girl towards 
a father whom she loves and trusts. The old man pulled 
his arm away and put it round her shoulder. With a shrug 
which might if seen alone have denoted constraint, but 
with a look in the dark eyes and a glad tone in the strong 
voice which nullified it absolutely, he said to the Captain: 

“ Here comes my tyrant, Captain. Now I must behave 
myself.” 


ON THE CRYPTIC** y 

The girl standing close* to him went on in the same 
loving half “bantering way: 

"Go on, Daddy! Tell us what women should learn!** 

"They should learn, Miss Impudence, to respect their 
fathers!** Though he spoke lightly in a tone of banter 
and with a light of affection beaming in his eyes, the girl 
grew suddenly grave, and murmured quickly: 

"That is not to be learned. Father. That is born with 
one, when the father is like mine!’* Then turning to the 
Captain she went on: 

"Did you ever hear of the Irishman who said:, There*s 
some subjects too sarious for jestin* ; an* pitaties is wan iv 
them? I can*t sauce my father, or chaff him, or be im- 
pudent — though I believe he likes me to be impudent — to 
him, when he talks of respect. He has killed men before 
now for want of that But he won’t kill me. He knows 
that my respect for him is as big as my love — and there 
isn’t room for any more of either of them in me. Don’t you 
Daddy?** 

For answer the old man drew her closer to him; but he 
said nothing. Really there was no need for speech. The 
spirits and emotions of both were somewhat high strung in 
the sudden change to brightness from the gloom that had 
prevailed for weeks. At such times even the most staid 
are apt to be suddenly moved. 

A diversion came from the Captain, a grave, formal 
man as indeed becomes one who has with him almost per- 
petually the responsibility of many hundreds of lives: 

"Did I understand rightly. Colonel Ogilvie that you have 
killed men for such a cause?’* The old gentleman lifted 
his shaggy white eyebrows in faint surprise, and answered 
slowly and with an easiness which only half hid an ineffable 
disdain : 

"Why, cert*nly!** The simple acceptance of the truth 
(eft the Captain flabbergasted. He grew red and was be- 
ginning: "I thought” — when the girl who considered it 


8 


LADY ATHLYNE 


possible that a quick quarrel might arise between the two 
strong men, interrupted: 

‘"Perhaps Captain, you don^t understand our part of the 
world. In Kentucky we still hold with the old laws of 
Honour* which we sometimes hear are dead — or at any rate 
back numbers — in other countries. My father has fought 
duels all his life. The Ogilvies have been fighters way 
back to the time of the settlement by Lord Baltimore. My 
Cousin Dick tells me — for father never talks of them un- 
less he has to — that they never forced quarrels for their 
own ends ; though I must say that they are pretty touchy” — 
She was in turn interrupted by her father who said 
quickly : 

"“Touchy' is the word, my girl, though I fear you use 
it too lightly. A man should be touchy where honour is con- 
cerned. For Honour is the first thing in all the world. 
What men should live for ; what men should die for ! To a 
gentleman there is nothing so holy. And if he can’t fight 
for such a sacred thing, he does not deserve to have it. 
He does not know what it means." 

Through the pause came the grave voice of the Captain, 
a valiant man who on state occasions wore on his right 
breast in accordance with the etiquette of the occasion the 
large gold medal of the Royal Humane Society: 

“There are many things that men should fight for — and 
die for if need be. But I am bound to say that I don’t 
hold that the chiefest among them is a personal grievance ; 
even if it be on the subject of the measure of one’s own 
self-respect." Noticing the coming frown on the Ken- 
tuckian’s face, he went on a thought more quickly : “ But, 
though I don’t hold with duelling. Colonel Ogilvie, for 
any cause. I am bound to say that if a man thinks and be- 
lieves that it is right to fight, then it becomes a duty which 
he should fulfil 1 " 

For answer the Colonel held out his hand which the other 
took warmly. That handshake cemented a friendship of 


ON THE “CRYPTIC” 9 

two strong men who understood each other well enough to 
tolerate the other’s limitations. 

*'And I can tell you this, seh,” said Colonel Ogilvie, 
‘'there are some men who want killing — want it badly!” 

The girl glowed. She loved to see her father strong 
and triumphant ; and when toleration was added to his other 
fine qualities, there was an added measure in her pride of 
him. 

There came a tap on the panelling and the doorway was 
darkened by the figure of a buxom pleasant-faced woman, 
w'ho spoke in a strong Irish accent: 

‘T big yer pardon, Miss Ogilvie, but yer Awnt is yellin’ 
out for ye. She’s- thinkin’ that now the wather’s deep the 
ship is bound to go down in it; an’ she sez she wants ye 
to be wid her whin the ind comes, as she’s afeard to die 
alone I” 

“That’s very thoughtful of her! Judy was always an 
unselfish creature!” said the Colonel with an easy sarcasm. 
“Run along to her anyhow, little girl. That’s the sort of 
fighting a woman has to do. And” turning to the Captain 
“ by Ged, seh ! she’s got plenty of that sort of fighting be- 
tween her cradle and her grave !” As she went out of the 
door girl said over her shoulder: 

“That reminds me, daddy. Don’t go on w’ith that lec- 
ture of yours of what women should learn until I come 
back. Remember Vm only ‘ a child emerging into woman- 
hood ’ — ^that’s what you wrote to mother when you wouldn’t 
let me travel to her alone. Some one might kill me I 
suppose, or steal me between this and Ischia. So it is 
-well I should be forewarned, and so forearmed, at all 
points ! ” 

The Captain looked after her admiringly; then turning 
to Colonel Ogilvie he said almost unconsciously — ^he had 
daughters of his own; 

“ I shouldn’t be surprised if a lot want to steal her. 
Colonel. And I don’t know but they’d be right ! ” 


LADY ATHLYNE 


10 

« I agree with you, by Ged, seh I ” said the Colonel re> 
flectively, as he looked after his daughter pacing with free 
strides along the deck with the stout little stewardess over 
whom she towered by a full head. 

Miss Ogilvie found her aunt. Miss Judith Hayes, in her 
bunk. From the clothes hung round and laid, neatly folded, 
on the upper berth it w^as apparent that she had undressed 
as for the night When the young girl realised this she 
said impulsively : 

“ Oh, Aunt Judy, I hope you are not ill. Do come up on 
deck. The sun is shining and it is such a change from the 
awful weather in New York. Do come, dear; it will do 
you good.'^ 

“ I am not ill Joy — in the way you mean. Indeed I was 
never in better physical health in my life.” She said this 
with grave primness. The girl laughed outright : 

“ Why on earth Aunt Judy, if youVe well, do you go to 
bed at ten o’clock in the morning?” Miss Hayes was not 
angry ; there was a momentary gleam in her eye as she said 
with a manifestedly exaggerated dignity : 

“ You forget my dear, that I am an old maid ! 

“What has old-maidenhood to do with it? But anyhow 
you are not an old maid. You are only forty ! ” 

“Not forty, Joy! Only forty, indeed! My dear child 
when that unhappy period comes a single lady is put on 
the shelf — out of reach of all masculine humanity. For 
my part I have made up my mind to climb up there, of 
my own accord, before the virginal undertakers come for 
me. I am in for it anyhow ; and I want to play the game 
as well as I can.” 

Joy bent down and kissed her affectionately. Then taking 
her face between her strong young hands, and looking 
steadily in her eyes, she said : 

“ Aunt Judy you are not an old anything. You are a 
deal younger than I am. You mustn’t get such ideas into 
your head. And even if you do you mustn’t speak them. 


ON THE ** CRYPTIC*^ 


II 


People would begin to believe you. What is forty my- 
how I ” The other answered sententiously : 

** What is forty ? Not old for a wife I Young for a 
widow ! Death for a maid ! ** 

"Really Aunt Judy” said the girl smiling "one would 
think you wish to be an old maid. Even I know better than 
that — ^and Father thinks I am younger and more ignorant 
than the yellow chick that has just pecked its way out of 
the shell. The woman has not yet been bom — ^nor ever will 
be — who wants to be an old maid.” 

Judith Hayes raised herself on one elbow and said 
calmly : 

" Or a young one, my dear ! ” Then as if pleased with 
her epigram she sank back on her pillow with a smile. Joy 
paused; she did not know w^hat to say. A diversion came 
from the stewardess who had all the time stood ill the door- 
way waiting for some sort of instructions: 

" Bedad, Miss Hayes, it’s to Ireland ye ought to come. 
A lovely young lady like yerself — for all yer jabber about 
an ould maid iv forty — ^wouldn’t be let get beyant Queens- 
town, let alone the Mall in Cork. Bedad if ye was in Ath- 
lone its the shillelaghs that would be out an’ the byes all 
fightin’ for who’d get the hould on to ye first. Whisper 
me now, is it coddin’ us ye be doin’ or what? ” Joy turned 
round to her, her face all dimpled with laughter, and 
said : 

" That’s the way to talk to her Mrs. O’Brien. You just 
take her in hand; and when we get to Queenstown find 
some nice big Irishman to carry her off.” 

" Bedad I will I An sorra the shtruggle she’d make a; 
it anyhow I’m thinkin’l ” Aunt Judy laughed: 

" Joy ” she said " you’d better be careful yourself 
maybe she’d put on some of her bachelor press-gang 
abduct you.” 

"Don’t you be onaisy about that ma’am,” said Mrs. 
O’Brien quietly " I’ve fixed that already ! When I seen 


12 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Joy come down the companion shtairs I sez to mcself : 
re’s only wan man in Ireland — an that’s in all the 
d — that’s good enough for you, me darlin*. An he’ll 
you for sure or I’m a gandherl ” 
ndced ! ” said Joy, blushing in spite of herself. ” And 
I be permitted to know my ultimate destination in the 
of matrimony? You won’t think me inquisitive or 
ming I trust.” Her eyes were dancing with the fun 
je thing. Mrs. O’Brien laughed heartily; a round, 
y, honest laugh which was infectious: 
iVid all the plisure in life Miss. Shure there’s only 
wan, an him the finest and beauti fullest young man ye 
laid* yer pritty eyes on. An him an Earrl, more be- 
h; w'id more miles iv land iv his own then there does 
)itaties in me ould father’s houldin! Musha, he’s the 
wan that’s at all fit to take yer swate self in his 
rge!” 

H’ml Quite condescending of him I am sure. And 
what may be his sponsorial and patron>Tiiic appella- 
.5?” Mrs. O'Brien at once became grave. To an un- 
cated person, and more especially an Irish person, an 
nown phrase is full of mystery. It makes the listener 
small and disconcerted, touching the personal pride 
h is so marked a characteristic of all degrees of the 
race. Joy, with the quick understanding which was 
the least of her endowments, saw that she had made 
istake and hastened to set matters right before the 
in had time to bite deep: 

^rgive me, but that was my fun. What I meant 
ire the name and title of my destined Lord and 
” The stewardess answered heartily, the ruffle of 
♦oftening into an amiable smile: 

I tellin’ ye miss. Shure there is only the wan ! ” 
^^ho may he be ? ” 

he may be anything. It’s a King or a Kazer or 
or or a Czaar he’d be if I had the ordherin’ iv it. 


ON THE CRYPTIC” 


13 

But what he is is the Right Honourable the Earl av Athlyne. 
Lord Liftinant av the Countv iv Roscommon — an* a 
jooll** 

“Oh, an Irisruiian!** said Miss Jud3\ Mrs. O’Erien 
snorted ; her national pride was hurt : 

“An Irishman! God be thanked he is. But me Lady, 
av it*l! plaze ye betther he*s an Englishman too, an* a Welsh- 
man an* a Scotchman as well I Oh, th* injustice t* Ireland, 
Him borrn in Roscommon, an yit a Scotchman they call 
him bekase his biggest title is Irish ! ** 

“ Mrs. O’Brien, that's all nonsense,** said Miss Judy 
tartly. “ We may be Americans ; but we*ve not to be played 
for suckers for all that! How can a Scotchman have an 
Irish title .^** 

“ That's all very well. Miss Hayes, yous Americans is 
very diver; but yez don’t know everything. An* I may be 
an ignorant ould fool ; but I’m not so ignorant as ye think, 
a>ther. Wasn’t there a Scotchman thit was marrid on 
the granddaughther iv Quane Victory hersilf — ^An Errll be- 
gob, what owmed the size iv a counthry in Scotland. An 
him all the time w'id an Irish Errldom, till they turned him 
into a Sassenach be makin* him a Juke. Begorra! isn’t 
it proud th* ould Laady should ha* been to git an Irishman 
iv any kind for the young girrll Shure an isn’t Athlyne 
as good as Fife any day. Hasn’t he castles an* estates in 
Scotland an* England an Wales, as well as in Ireland. 
Isn’t he an ould Bar n iv some kind in Scotland an him 
but a young man! Begob! av it’s Ireland y* objict to ye 
Ji take him as Scotch — where they say he belongs an’ 
.lere he chose to live whin he became a grown man, before 
i wint into th* Army ! ” 

Somehow or other the announcement and even the gran- 
lose manner of its making gave pleasure to Joy. After 
dl, the compliment of the stewardess w'as an earnest one. 
She had chosen for her the best that she knew. What more 
could she do? With a sudden smile she made a sweeping 


14 


LADY ATHLYNE 


curtsey, the English Presentation curtsey which all Ameri- 
can girls are taught, and said : 

Let me convey to you the sincere thanks of the Countess 
of Athlynel Aunt Judy do you feel proud of having a 
Peeress for a niece? Any time you wish to be presented 
you can call on the services of Lady Athlyne/* She sud- 
denly straightened herself to her full height as Mrs. 0*Brien 
spoke with a sort of victorious howl : 

‘‘Hurroo! Now ye've done it. YeVe said the wurrds 
yerself ; an* we all know what that manes ! " 

‘‘What does it mean?" Joy spoke somewhat sharply, 
her face all aflame. It appeared that she had committed 
some unmaidenly indiscretion. 

“ It manes that it manes the same as if ye said ‘ yis I ’ to 
me gentleman when persooin' iv his shute. It's for all the 
wurrld the same as bein' marrid on to him 1 " 

In spite of the ridiculousness of the statement Joy thrilled 
inwardly. Unconsciously she accepted the position of 
peeress thus thrust upon her. 

After all, the Unknown has its own charms for the human 
heart Those old Athenians who built the altars “To the 
Unknown God," did but put into classic phrase the aspira- 
tions of a people by units as well as in mass. Mrs. 
O'Brien's enthusiastic admiration laid seeds of some kind 
in the young girl’s heart. 

Her instinct was, however, not to talk of it ; and as a pro- 
tective measure she changed the conversation: 

“ But you haven’t told me yet, Aunt Judy, why you went 
to bed in the morning because you pretend to be an old 
maid." The Irishwoman here struck in: 

“ I'm failin' to comprehind that meself too. If ye was a 
young wife now I could consave it, maybe. Or an ouk 
widda-woman like meself that does have to be gettin' up 
in the night to kape company wid young weemin that 
doesn't like to die, alone . . she burst into hearts 
laughter in which Miss Judith Hayes joined. Joy took 


ON THE ‘‘CRYPTIC” 15 

advantage of the general hilarity to try to persuade her aunt 
to come on deck. She finished her argument : 

“ And the Captain is such a nice man. He’s just a wee 
bit too grave. I think he must be a widower/’ Aunt Judy 
made no immediate reply ; but after some more conversation 
she said to the stewardess : 

“ I think I will get up Mrs. O’Brien. Perhaps a chair 
on deck in the sunshine will be better for me than staying 
down here. And, after all, if I have to die it will be better 
to die in the open than in a bed the size of a coffin I " 

When Joy rejoined her father in the Chart-room she 
said to the Captain: 

“ That stewardess of yours is a dear 1 ” He warmly 
acquiesced : 

“ She is really a most capable person ; and all the ladies 
whom she attends grow' to be quite fond of her. She is 
ahvays kind and cheery and hearty and makes them forget 
that they are ill or afraid. When I took command of the 
Cryptic I asked the company to let her come with me.” 

“ And quite right too, Captain. That brogue of hers is 
quite W'onderful ! ” 

“ It is indeed. But, my dear young lady, its very per- 
fection makes me doubt it. It is so thick and strong and 
ready, and the way she twdsts w'ords into its strength and 
makes new ones to suit it give me an idea at times that it 
is partly put on. I sometimes think it is impossible that 
any one can be so absolutely and imperatively Irish as she 
is. However, it serves her in good stead ; she can say, with- 
out offence, w’hatever she chooses in her owm way to any 
one. She is a really clever woman and a kind one; and 
[ have the greatest respect for her.” 

When Aunt Judy was left alone with the stew'ardess, she 
isked : 

“ WTio is Lord Athlyne ? — What kind of man is he ? 
Where does he live ? ” 

“ Where does he live ? — W'hy everywhere 1 In Athlyne 


i6 


LADY ATHLYNE 


for one, but a lot iv other places as well. He was brought 
up at the Castle where the' ould Earrl always lived afther 
he lift Parlimint ; and whin he was a boy he was the wildest 
young dare-devil iver ye seen. Faix, the County Roscom- 
mon itself wasn't big enough for him. When he was a 
young man he wint away shootin' lions and tigers and 
elephants and crockodiles and such like. Thin he wint 
into th’ army an began to settle down. He has a whole 
lot av different houses, and he goes to them all be times. 
He says that no man has a right to be an intire absentee 
landlord — even when he's livin' in his own house I " 

“ But what sort of man is he personally ? " she asked per- 
sistently. The Irishwoman’s answer was direct and com- 
prehensive : 

The hist!" 

“ How do you know that? " 

** An' how do I know it ! Amn't I a Roscommon woman, 
borm, an' wan av the tinants? Wouldn’t that be enough? 
But that’s only the beginnin'. Shure wasn’t I his fosther- 
mother, God bless him I Wasn't he like me own child w’hen 
I tuk him to me breast w’hin his poor mother died the day 
he was borrn. Ah, Miss Hayes there’s nothin' ye don't 
know about the child ye have given suck to. More, be- 
token, than if he was yer own child ; for he might be thinkin' 
too much of him puttin' the bist consthruction on ivery 
little thing he iver done, just because he was yer own. 
Troth I didn't want any tellin' about Athlyne. The 
sweetest wean that iver a woman nursed; the tindherest 
hearted, wid the wee little hands upon me face an his rose- 
bud av a moutli puttin’ up to me for a kiss! An' yit the 
pride av him ; more'n a King on his throne. An’ th' inde- 
pindince ! Him wantin' to walk an' run before he was able 
to shtand. An' ordherin’ about the pig an* the gandher, 
let alone the dog. Shure the masterfullest man-child that 
iver was, and the masterfullest man that is* Sorra wan 
like him in the whole wide wurrld ! ” 


ON THE “CRYPTIC” 17 

“You seem to love him very much,” said Miss Hayes 
with grave approval. 

“ In coorse I do ! An’ isn’t it me own boy that was his 
fosther brother that loves him too. Whin the Lard wint 
out to fight the Boors, Mick wint wid him as his own body 
man until he was invalided home wid a bad knee ; an’ him 
a coachman now an’ doin’ nothin’ but take his wages ; And 
whin he kem to Liverpool to say good-bye when the Cryptic 
should come in I tould him to take care of his Masther. 
* Av ye don’t,’ sez I, ‘ ye’re no son iv mine, nor iv yer poor 
dear father, rest his sowl ! Rape betune him an’ any bullet 
that’s cornin’ his way ’ I sez. An’ wid that he laughed out 
loud in me face. ‘ That’s good, mother,’ sez he, ‘ an iv 
coorse I’d be proud to; but I’d like to set eyes on the man 
that’d dar to come betune Athlyne an’ a bullet, or to pre- 
vint him cuttin’ slices from aff iv the Boors wid his big 
cav-a-lary soord,’ he sez. ‘ Begob,’ he sez, ‘ t’would be 
worse nor fightin’ the Boors themselves to intherfere wid 
him whin he’s set on his way ! ’ ” 

“ That’s loyal stock ! He’s a Man, that son of yours ! ” 
said Miss Judy enthusiastically, forgetting her semi-cynical 
role of old maid in the ardour of the moment. The stew- 
ardess seeing that she had a good listener went on: 

“ And ’tis the thoughtful man he is. He niver writes to 
me, bekase he knows well I can’t read. But he sends me 
five pounds every Christmas. On me birthday he gev me 
this, Lord love him ! ” She took a gold watch from her 
bosom and showed it with pride. 

When she was dressed. Miss Hayes looked into the 
Library ; and finding it empty took down the “ de Brett,” 
well thumbed by American use. Here is what she saw on 
looking up “ Athlyne.” 

ATHLYNE EARL OF FITZGERALD 

Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Hardy Mowbray Fitz- 
Gerald 2nd Earl of Athlyne (in the Peerage of the United 


i8 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Kingdom). 2nd Viscount Roscommon (in the Peerage of 
Ireland). 30th Baron Ceann-da-Shail (in the Peerage of 
Scotland), b. 6 June 1875 s. 1886 ed. Eton and University 
of Dublin ; is D. L. for Counties of Ross and Roscommon : 
J. P. for Counties of Wilts, Ross and Roscommon. 

Patron of three livings: — Raphoon, New Sands, and 
Politore. 

Seats. Ceann-da-Shail Castle and Castle of Elandonan 
in Ross-shire, Athlyne Castle C. Roscommon. Travy 
Manor, Gloucestershire and The Rock Beach, Cornwall, 
&c. &c. Town Residence. 40 St. James’s Square S. W. 

Clubs. Reform. Marlborough. United Service. Naval 
and Military. Garick. Arts. Bath &c. 

Predecessors. Sir Calinus FitzGerald — descended from 
Calinus FitzGerald the first of the name settled in Ross- 
shire, to which he came from Ireland in the XII century — 
was created by Robert the Bruce Baron Ceann-da-Shail, 
1314, and endowed with the Castle of Elandonan (Gift 
of the King) as the reward of a bold rally of the Northern 
troops at Bannockburn. Before his death in 1342 he built 
for himself a strongly fortified Castle on the Island of 
Ceann-da-Shail (from which his estate took its name) cele- 
brated from time immemorial for a wonderful spring of 
water. The Barony has been held in direct descent with 
only two breaks. The first was in 1642 when direct male 
issue having failed through the death of the only son of 
Calinus the XXth Baron the Peerage and estates reverted 
to Robert Calinus e. s. of James, 2nd s. of Robert XVIII 
Baron. The second was in 1826 when, again through the 
early decease of an only son, the Barony reverted to Robert 
e. s. of Malcolm 2nd s. of Colin XXVII Baron. The 
father of this heritor, Malcolm FitzGerald, had settled in 
Ireland in 1782. There he. had purchased a great estate 
fronting on the River Shannon in Roscommon on which he 
had built a castle, Athlyne. Malcolm FitzGerald entered 
the Parliament of the United Kingdom in 1805 and sat for 


ON THE “CRYPTIC” 


19 


22 years when he was succeeded in Parliamentary honours 
by his son Robert on his coming of age in 1827. Robert 
held his seat until the creation of the Viscounty of Roscom- 
mon 1870. Three years after his retirement from the House 
of Commons he was raised to an Earldom — Athlyne. 

When she went out on deck she found her niece taking 
with her father the beef tea which had just been brought 
round. She did not mention to Colonel Ogilvie the little 
joke about Lady Athlyne, and strange to say found that 
Joy to whom a joke or a secret was a matter of fungoid 
growth, multiplying and irrepressible, had not mentioned 
it either. 


CHAPTER II 


IN ITALY 

During the voyage, which had its own vicissitudes, the 
joke was kept up amongst the three women. The stew- 
ardess, seeing that the two ladies only spoke of it in privacy, 
exemplified that discretion which the Captain had com- 
mended. Only once did she forget herself, but even then 
fortune was on her side. It was during a day when Joy 
was upset by a spell of heavy weather and had to keep her 
cabin. In the afternoon her father paid a visit to her; 
and Mrs. O’Brien in reporting progress to him said that 
“ her Ladyship ” was now on the road to recovery and 
would be on deck very shortly. Colonel Ogilvie made quite 
a lot of the error which he read in his own way. He said 
to his sister-in-law as they paced the deck together: 

“ Capital woman that stewardess ! There is a natural 
deference and respect in her manner which you do not 
always find in people of her class. Will you oblige me, 
Judy, by seeing, when the voyage is over, that she gets an 
extra honorarium ! ” Judy promised, and deftly turned 
the conversation ; she felt that she was on dangerous ground. 

Judith Hayes called herself an old maid, not believing it 
to be true; but all the same there was in her make-up a 
distinctive trait of it: the manner in which she regarded 
a romance. Up to lately, romance however unlikely or im- 
probable, had a personal bearing; it did not occur to her 
that it might not drift in her direction. But now she felt 
unconsciously that such romance must have other objective 
than herself. The possibility, therefore, of a romance for 
Joy whom she very sincerely loved was a thing to be cher- 


20 


IN ITALY 


21 


ished. She could see, as well as feel, that her niece by 
keeping it a secret from her father had taken the matter 
with at least a phase of seriousness. This alone was suffi- 
cient to feed her own imaginings; and in the glow her 
sympathies quickened. She had instinctively at the begin- 
ning determined not to spoil sport; now it became a con- 
scious intention. 

Mrs. O’Brien, too, in her own way helped to further the 
matter. She felt that she had a good audience for her 
little anecdotes of the child whose infancy she had fostered, 
and towards whom in his completed manhood she had a 
sort of almost idolatrous devotion. Seeing the girl so 
sympathetic and listening so patiently, she too began to see 
something like the beginnings of a fact. And so the game 
went merrily on. 

The telegrams at Queenstown were not very reassuring, 
and Colonel Ogilvie and his party pressed on at once to 
Sorrento whence his wife had moved on the completion of 
her series of baths at Ischia. Naturally the whole of the 
little party was depressed, until on arrival they found Mrs. 
Ogilvie, who was something of a valetudinarian, much 
better than they expected. The arrival of her husband and 
daughter and sister seemed to complete her cure ; she bright- 
ened up at once, and even after a few days began to enjoy 
herself. 

One day after lunch as she drove along the road to 
Amalfi with Judith and Joy — the Colonel was lazy that day 
and preferred to sit on the terrace over the sea and smoke — 
she began to ask all the details of the journey. Judy who 
had not had a chance of speaking alone with safety began 
to tell the little secret. Her method of commencement was 
abrupt, and somewhat startling to the convalescent : 

“ We’ve got a husband for Joy, at last! ” 

“ Gracious I ” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “ What do you mean, 
Judy? Is this one of your pranks?” 

“ Prank indeed I ” she answered back, tossing her head. 


22 LADY ATHLYNE 

''A real live lord! A belted Earl if you please — whatever 
that may mean.” 

“Is this true, Joy?” said her mother beaming anxiously 
on her — if such a combination is understandable. Joy took 
her hand and stroked it lovingly: 

“ Do you think, Mother dear, that if there was such a 
thing I should leave you all this time in ignorance of it. 
It is only a jest made up by the stewardess who attended 
us on the Cryptic. Aunt Judy seems to have taken it all 
in ; I think dear you had better ask her ; she seems to know 
all about it — which is certainly more than I do.” 

“ And how did this common woman dare to jest on such 
a subject. I don’t think Judy that this would have happened 
had I been with her myself ! ” 

“ Oh my dear, get off that high horse. There’s nothing 
to be alarmed about. The stewardess — who is a most 
worthy and attentive person ” 

“ She is a dear! ” interrupted Joy. 

•“ — took such a fancy to Joy that she said there was only 
* wan ’ in all the world who was worthy of her — a young 
nobleman to whom she had been foster-mother. It was 
certainly meant as a very true compliment, and I am bound 
to say that if the young man merits a hundredth part of all 
she said of him there’s certainly no cause of offence in the 
mere mentioning his name.” 

“ What is his name ? ” There was a shade of anxiety 
in the mother’s voice. 

“Lord Athlyne!” 

“ The Earl of Athlyne ! ” said Joy speaking without 
thought. Then she turned quickly away to hide her 
blushing. 

“ I — I — I really don’t understand ! ” said Mrs. Ogilvie, 
looking around helplessly. Then with the shadow of a 
shade of annoyance in her voice she went on : 

“ I really think that in a serious matter of this kind I 
should have been consulted. But I seem not to count for 


IN ITALY 


23 


anything any more. Colonel Ogilvie has not even men- 
tioned the matter to me. I think I ought to have some say 
in anything of importance relating to my little girl.’’ 

“ Lord bless the woman ! ” said Aunt Judy throwing up 
her hands and lifting her eyes. “ Sally dear don’t you 
comprehend that this was all a joke. We never saw this 
young Lord, never heard of him till the stewardess men- 
tioned him ; and as for him he doesn’t know or care whether 

there is such a person in the world as Joy Ogilvie ” 

The mother interrupted hotly — it seemed want of respect 
to her child: 

“ Then he ought to care. I’d like to know who he is to 
consider himself so high and mighty that even my little 
girl isn’t . . . Oh ! I have no patience with him.” 

There was silence in the carriage. Mrs. Ogilvie had 
come to the end of her remonstrance, and both the others 
were afraid to speak. It was all so supremely ridiculous. 
And yet the mother was taking it all so seriously that re- 
spect for her forbade laughter. The road was here steep 
and the horses were laboriously climbing their way. Pres- 
ently Judy turned to Joy saying: 

Wouldn’t you like to look at the view from the edge 
of the cliff?” As she spoke she looked meaningly at her 
niece who took the hint and got down. 

When she was out of earshot and the driver had stopped 
the horses Judy turned to her sister and said with a quiet, 
incisive directness quite at variance with all her previous 
moods : 

‘‘ Sally dear I want to speak a moment to you quite 
frankly and, believe me, very earnestly. I know you don’t 
usually credit me with much earnestness; but this is about 
Joy, and that is always earnest with me.” All the mother- 
hood in Mrs. Ogilvie answered to the call. She sat up 
with eager intensity, receptive to the full and without any 
disturbing chagrin. Judy went on: 

“ You have been thinking of your ‘ little girl ’ — and ac- 


24 


LADY ATHLYNE 


tually speaking of her as such. That is the worst of 
mothers — their one fault. With them time seems to stand 
still. The world goes flying by them, but in their eyes the 
child remains the same. Gold hair or black turns to white, 
wrinkles come, knees totter and steps become unsteady ; but 
the child goes on — still, in the mother’s eyes, dressing dolls 
and chasing butterflies. They don’t even seem to realise 
facts when the child puts her own baby into the grand- 
mother’s arms. Look round for a moment where Joy is 
standing there outlined against that Moorish tower on the 
edge of the cliff. Tell me what do you see? ” 

“ I see my dear, beautiful little girl ! ” said the mother 
faintly. 

“ Hm ! ” said Judy defiantly. “ That’s not exactly what 
I see. I agree with the ‘ dear ’ and ‘ beautiful ’ ; she’s all 
that and a thousand times more.” 

“ Tell me what you do see, Judy ! ” said the mother in a 
whisper as she laid a gentle hand imploringly on her sister’s 
arm. She was trembling slightly. Judy took her hand 
and stroked it tenderly. “ I know ! ” she said gently I 
know. I know ! ” The mother took heart from her ten- 
derness and said in an imploring whisper : 

“ Be gentle with me, Judy. She is all I have; and I fear 
her passing away from me.” 

“ Not that — not yet at all events ! ” she answered quickly. 
“ The time is coming no doubt. But it is because we should 
be ready for it that I want to speak. We at least ought 
to know the exact truth ! ” 

“ The exact truth . . . Oh Judy ... ! ” 

“ Don’t be frightened, dear. There is nothing to fear. 
The truth is all love and goodness. But my dear we are 
all but mortal after all, and the way to keep right is to 
think truly.” 

“Tell me exactly what you see! Tell me everything no 
matter how small. I shall perhaps understand better that 
way I ” 


IN ITALY 


25 


Judy paused a while, looking at the young girl lovingly. 
Then she spoke in a level absent voice as though uncon- 
sciously. 

“ I don’t see a child — now. I see a young woman of 
twenty ; and a fine well-grown young woman at that. Look 
at her figure, straight and clean as a young pine. Type 
of figure that is the most alluring of all to men; what the 
French call fausse maigre. She has great gray eyes as 
deep as the sky or the sea ; eyes that can drag the soul out 
of a man’s body and throw it down beneath her dainty 
feet. I may be an old maid ; but I know that much anyhow. 
Her hair is black — that isn’t black, but with a softness that 
black cannot give. Her skin is like ivory seen in the sun- 
set. Her mouth is like a crimson rosebud. Her teeth are 
like pearls, and her ears like pink shell. Her head is poised 
on her graceful neck like a lily on its stem. Her nose is 
a fine aquiline — that means power and determination. Her 
forehead can wrinkle — that means thought, and may mean 
misery. Her hands are long and fine ; patrician hands that 
can endure — and suffer. Sally, there is there the making 
of a splendid woman and of a noble life; she is not out of 
her girlhood yet, but she is very near it. Ignorance is 
no use to her. She imll understand ; and then she will take 
her own course. She has feeling deep and strong in the 
very marrow of her bones. Ah ! my dear, and she has 
passion too. Passion that can make or mar. That woman 
will do anything for love. She can believe and trust. And 
when she believes and trusts she will hold the man as her 
master; put him up on a pedestal and be content to sit at 
his feet and worship — and obey . . . She . . .” 

Here the mother struck in with surprised consternation 
‘‘ How on earth do you know all this ? ” Judy turned 
towards her with a light in her eyes which her sister had 
never seen there: 

“ How do I know it ! Because she is of my blood and 
yours. Have I not seen a lot of it in you in our babyhood. 


26 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Have I not gone through it all myself — the longing part 
of it — the wishing and hoping and praying and suffering. 
Do you think Sally that I have arrived at old maidhood 
without knowing what a young maid thinks and feels ; with- 
out having any share of the torture that women must bear 
in some form or another. I know it all as well as though 
it was all fresh before me instead of a lurid memory. Ah, 
my dear she has all our nature — and her father’s too. And 
he never learned the restraint that we had to learn — and 
practice. When she is face to face with passion she may 
find herself constrained to take it as he has always done: 
for life or death ! ” . . . She paused a moment, panting 

with the intensity of her feeling. Then she went on more 
quietly : 

“ Sally, isn’t it wiser to let her, in her youth and ignorance 
of herself and the world, break herself in to passion and 
romance. It would be hard to get a safer object for senti- 
mental affection than a man she never saw and is never 
likely to meet. After all, he is only an idea; at best a 
dream. In good time he will pass out of her mind and 
give place to something more real. But in the meantime 
she will have learned — learned to understand, to find her- 
self.” Then she sat silent till Joy turned round and be- 
gan to walk towards them. At this the mother said 
quietly : 

“ Thank you, dear Judy. I think I understand. You 
are quite right, and I am glad you told me.” 

That journey round the Sorrentine Peninsula became a 
part of Joy’s life. It was not merely that every moment 
was a new pleasure, a fresh delight to the eye; her heart 
was in some mysterious way beginning to be afire. Hitherto 
her thoughts of that abstract creation. Lord Athlyne, had 
been impersonal: an objective of her own unconscious de- 
sires, rather than a definite individuality. Up to now, 
though he had been often in her thoughts, he had never 
taken shape there. The image was so inchoate, indefinite. 


IN ITALY 


27 


vague and nebulous. She had never tried or even wished 
to find for him in her imagination features or form. But 
now she had begun to picture him in various ways. As she 
stood beside the Moorish tower looking down across the 
rugged slope of rock and oleander at the wrinkled sea be- 
neath, his image seemed to flit before the eyes of her soul 
in kaleidoscopic form. It was an instance of true feminine 
receptivity: the form did not matter, she was content to 
accept the Man. 

The cause — the sudden cause of this change was her 
mother’s attitude. She had accepted him as a reality and 
had not hesitated to condemn him as though he was a con- 
scious participant in what had passed. Joy had found her- 
self placed in a position in which she had to hear him 
unfairly treated, without being able to make any kind of pro- 
test. It was too ridiculous to argue. What on earth could her 
mother know about him that she should take it for granted 
that he had done wrong? He who had never seen her or 
even heard of her! He who was the very last man in the 
world to be wanting to a woman in the way of respect — of 
tenderness — of love. . . . Here she started and looked 

around cautiously as one does who is suspicious of being 
watched. For it flashed across her all at once that she 
knew no more of him than did her mother. As yet he was 
only an abstraction; and her mother’s conception of him 
differed from hers. And as she thought, and thought truly 
for she was a clever girl, she began to realise that she had 
all along been clothing an abstract individuality with her 
own wishes and dreams — and hopes. . . . The last 

thought brought her up sharply. With a quick shake of the 
head she threw aside for the present all thoughts on the 
subject, and impulsively went back to the carriage. 

There were however a few root thoughts left which would 
not be thrown aside. They could not be, for they were 
fixed in her womanhood. Another woman had accepted 
her dream as a reality; and now, as that reality was her 


28 


LADY ATHLYNE 


doing, he was her own man. And he was misunderstood 
and blamed and unfairly treated! It was her duty to pro- 
tect him ! 

Had Aunt Judy been aware of her logical process and its 
conclusion she could have expressed it thus : 

Hm I a man in her mind . — Her man. Her duty to pro- 
test. . . . We all know what that means. He’s only 

in her mind at present . . . Hm 1 ” 

The whole day was spent on the road, for the beauty was 
such that the stoppages were endless. Joy, with the new- 
arisen soul which took her out of her own thoughts, found 
delight in every moment. She could hardly contain her 
rapture as fresh vistas of beauty burst upon her. When the 
curve of the promontory began to cut off the view of Vesu- 
vius and the plain seaward of it, she got out of the carriage 
and ran back to where she could have a full view. Under- 
neath her lay the wonderful scene of matchless beauty. 
To the right rose Vesuvius a mass of warm colour, with its 
cinder cone staring boldly into the blue sky, a faint cloud 
hanging over it like a flag. Below it was the sloping plain 
dotted with trees and villas and villages, articulated in the 
clear air like a miniature map. Then the great curve of the 
bay, the sapphire sea marked clearly on the outline of the 
coast from Ischia which rose like a jewel from a jewel. Past 
Naples, a clustering mass with San Martino standing nobly 
out and the great fortress crowning grimly the hill above 
it. Past Portici and the buried Herculaneum ; till getting 
closer the roofs and trees and gardens seemed to run up 
to where she stood. To the left, a silhouette of splendid 
soft purple, rose the island of Capri from the sea of sapphire 
which seemed to quiver in the sunshine. Long she looked, 
and then closing her eyes to prove that the lovely image still 
held in the darkness, she turned with a long sigh of ecstasy 
and walked slowly to the waiting carriage. 

Again and again she stooped, till at last she made up her 
mind to walk altogether until she should get tired. The 


IN ITALY 


29 

driver took his cue from her movements when to stop and 
when to go on. 

The road round the Peninsula runs high up the mountain 
side with mostly a steep precipice to seaward and on the 
other hand towering rocks. But such rocks ! And so clad 
with the finest vegetation ! Rocks rich in colour and quaint 
in shape; with jagged points and deep crevices in which 
earth could gather and where trees and shrubs and flowers 
could cling. High over-head hung here and there a beauti- 
ful stone-pine with red twisted trunk and spreading 
branches. Fig and lemon trees rose in the sheltered angles, 
the long yellow shoots of the new branches of the lemon 
cutting into the air like lances. Elsewhere beech and chest- 
nut, oak and palm. Trailing over the rock, both seaward 
and landward, creepers of soft green and pink. And above 
all, high up on the skyline, the semi-transparent, smoke- 
coloured foliage of the olives that crowned the slopes. 

Then the towns! Maggiore and Amalfi quaint close- 
drawn irregular relics of a more turbulent age, climbing 
up the chasms in the hillside. Narrow streets, so steep as 
to look impossible to traffic. Queer houses of all sorts of 
irregular design and variety of stone. Small windows, high 
doors, steep, rugged irregularly-sloping steps as though time 
and some mighty force had shaken the very rock on which 
they were built. Joy felt as though she could stay there 
for ever, and that each day would be a dream, and each 
fresh exploration a time of delight. In her secret heart 
of hearts she registered a vow that if ever she should go on 
a wedding journey it should be to there. 

At Amalfi they had tea, and then made up their minds that 
they would drive on to Salerno and there take train home; 
for it would be time to travel quick when so long a journey 
had been taken. 

When they were at the end of the peninsula a sudden 
storm came on. For awhile they had seen far out at sea 
a dark cloud gathering, but it was so far away that they 


30 


LADY ATHLYNE 


did not think it would affect them. The driver knew and 
began to make ready, for there was no escaping from it. 
He turned his horses’ heads to the rock and wedged up the 
wheels of the carriage with heavy stones so that in case the 
horses should get frightened their plunging could not be 
too harmful. 

Heavier and heavier grew the cloud out at sea, and as 
it grew denser it moved landward. Its grey changed to 
dark blue and then to a rich purple, almost black. A keen 
coldness presaged a coming storm. 

There was stillness all round the mountain road; a posi- 
tive desolation of silence from which even the wondrous 
beauty of the scene could not distract the mind. Joy abso- 
lutely refused to sit in the carriage which was now properly 
hooded. She threw on the cloak which she had brought 
with her and stood out on the open road where she could 
enjoy the scene undisturbed by human proximity. As she 
stood, the velvet black cloud was rent by a blinding sheet 
of lightning which seemed for a moment to be shaped like 
a fiery tree, roots upward in the sky. Close following 
came such a mighty peal of thunder that her heart shook. 
Ordinarily Joy was not timorous, and for thunder she had 
no fear. But this was simply terrific; it seemed to burst 
right over her head and to roll around her in a prolonged 
titanic rosi?! She was about to run to the carriage when she 
heard the shrieks of fear from the two women; the driver 
was on his knees on the road praying. Joy felt that all she 
could do to help her mother and aunt would be to keep calm 
— as calm as she could. So she moved her hand and called 
out cheerfully : 

“ Don’t be afraid I It is all right ; the lightning has 
passed us ! ” As she spoke the rain came down in tor- 
rents. It was tropical; in a few seconds the open road 
was running like a river, ankle deep. By the exercise of 
her will the girl’s courage had risen. She could now actually 
enjoy what was before her. Far out to sea the black cloud 


IN ITALY 


31 


still hung, but it was broken up in great masses which 
seemed to dip into the sea. It was almost as dark as night ; 
so dark that the expanse became lit by the lightning flashes. 
In one of these she saw three separate water-spouts. The 
sea appeared to have risen as the cloud sank, and now were 
far apart three great whirling pillars like hour-glasses. And 
then, wonder of wonders, without turning her head but 
only her eyes she could see away to the left a whole world 
of green expanse backed up by the mountains of Calabria. 
With each second the sinking sun brought into view some 
new hilltop flaming in the glow. A little way in front of 
her at the southern side of the peninsula the copper dome 
of the church at Vietri glowed like a ball of fire. Away to 
the south on the edge of the sea rose the many columns 
of the majestic ruins of Paestum, standing still and solemn 
as if untouchable by stress of storm or time. 

Joy stood entranced, as though the eyes of her soul had 
opened on a new world. She hardly dared to breathe. The 
pelting of the rainstorm, the rush of the water round her 
feet, the crash, and roar of the thunder or the hissing glare 
of the lightning did not move or disturb her. It was all 
a sort of baptism into a new life. 

Joy Ogilvie, like all persons of emotional nature, had 
quick sympathy with natural forces and the moods of 
nature. The experience of the day, based on the superla- 
tive beauty around her, had waked all the emotional nature 
within her. Naples is always at spring time; and the 
young heart finding naturally its place amongst the things 
that germinate and develop unconsciously, swayed with and 
was swayed by the impulses of her sex. Beauty and man- 
hood had twin position in her virgin breast. 

Aunt Judy’s insight or prophesy was being realised 
quicker than she thought. Joy’s sex had found her out! 


CHAPTER III 

DE HOOGE'S spruit 

In Italy Joy Ogilvie learned to the full, consciously and 
unconsciously, all the lessons which a younger civilisation 
can learn from an elder. To the sympathetic there are 
lessons in everything; every spot that a stranger foot has 
pressed has something to teach. Especially to one coming 
from the rush of strenuous life, which is the note of America, 
the old-world calm and luxury of repose have lessons in 
toleration which can hardly be otherwise acquired. In the 
great battle of life we do not match ourselves against indi- 
viduals but against nations and epochs; and when it is 
finally borne in on us that others, fashioned as we ourselves 
and with the same strength and ambitions and limitations, 
have lived and died and left no individual mark through 
the gathering centuries, we can, without sacrifice of personal 
pride, be content to humbly take each his place. 

The month spent at and round Naples had been a never- 
ending dream of delight; and this period of quiescence told 
on her naturally sensuous nature. Already she had accepted 
the idea of a man worthy of love ; and the time went to the 
strengthening of the image. There was a subtle satisfactori- 
ness in the received idea; the wealth of her nature had 
found a market — of a kind. That is to say : she was satisfied 
to export, and that was the end of her thoughts — for the 
present. Importation might come later, 

“ The mind’s Rialto hath its merchandise.” 

None of the family ever alluded to Lord Athlyne in the 
presence of her father. Each in her own way knew that he 

32 


DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT 


33 

would not like the idea; and so the secret — it had by this 
very reticence grown to be a secret by now — was kept. 

On the voyage back to New York Joy’s interest in Lord 
Athlyne became revived by the surroundings. They had 
not been able to secure cabins in the Cryptic; and so had 
come by the Hamburg-American Line from Southampton. 
By this time Aunt Judy’s interest in the matter had begun 
to wane. To her it had been chiefly a jest, with just that 
spice of earnest which came from the effect which she 
supposed the episode would have on Joy’s life. As Joy 
did not ever allude to the matter she had almost ceased to 
remember it. 

It was Joy’s duty — she thought of it as her privilege — 
to make her father’s morning cocktail which he always 
took before breakfast. One morning it was brought by 
Judy. Colonel Ogilvie thanking her asked why he had the 
privilege of her ministration. Unthinkingly she answered: 

Oh it’s all right. The Countess made it herself, but 
she asked me to take it to you as she is feeling the rolling 
of the ship and wants to keep in bed.” 

“ The who ? ” asked the Colonel his brows wrinkled in 
wonder. “ What Countess ? I did not know we had one 
on board.” 

Lady Athlyne of course. Oh ! ” she had suddenly 
recollected herself. As she saw she was in for an explana- 
tion she faced the situation boldly and went on : 

“ That is the name you know, that we call Joy.” 

The name you call Joy — the Countess ! Lady Athlyne ! 
What on earth do you mean, Judy? I don’t understand.” 
In a laughing, offhand way, full of false merriment she 
tried to explain, her brother-in-law listening the while with 
increasing gravity. When she had done he said quietly : 

“ Is this one of your jokes, Judy ; or did this Countess 
make two cocktails ? ” He stopped and then added : “ For- 
give me I should not have said that. But is it a joke, 
dear? ” 


34 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“Not a bit!” she answered spiritedly. “That is, this 
particular occasion is not a joke. It is the whole thing that 
is that.” 

“ A joke to take ... Is there a real man of the name 
of the Earl of Athlyne ? ” 

“ I believe so,” she said this faintly ; she had an idea of 
what was coming. 

“ Then Judith I should like some rational explanation of 
how you come to couple my daughter’s name in such a 
way with that of a strange man. It is not seemly to say the 
least of it. Does my daughter allow this to be done ? ” 

“ Oh Colonel, it is only a joke amongst ourselves. I hope 
you won’t make too much of it.” 

“ Too much of it! I couldn’t make enough of it! If the 
damned fellow was here I’d shoot him ! ” 

“ but, my God, the man doesn’t know anything about it ; 
no more than you did a minute ago.” Miss Judith was 
really alarmed; she knew the Colonel. He waved his hand 
as though dismissing her from the argument: 

“ Don’t worry yourself, my dear : this is a matter amongst 
men. We know how to deal with such things ! ” He said 
no more on the subject, but talked during breakfast as usual. 
When he rose to go on deck Judy followed him timidly. 
When they were away from the few already on deck she 
touched him on the arm. 

“ Give me just a minute? ” she entreated. 

“ A score if you like, my dear ! ” he answered heartily 
as he led her to a seat in a sheltered corner behind the 
saloon skylight, and sat beside her. “ What is it ? ” 

“ Lucius you have always been very good to me. All 
these years that I have lived in your house as your very 
sister you never had a word for me that wasn’t kind . . .” 
He interrupted her, laying his hand on hers which was on 
the arm of her deck chair: 

“ Why else, my dear Judy ! You and I have always 
been the best of friends. And my dear you have never 


DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT 


35 

brought anything but sunshine and sweetness into the 
house. Your merriment has kept care away from us when- 
ever he tried to show his nose . . . Why my dear what 

is it? There! You mustn’t cry!” As he spoke he had 
taken out a folded silk pocket-handkerchief and was very 
tenderly wiping her eyes. Judy went on sobbing a little at 
moments : 

“ I have always tried to make happiness, and I have 
never troubled you with asking favours, have I ? ” 

“ No need to ask, Judy. All I have is yours just as it is 
Sally’s or Joy’s.” Suddenly she smiled, her eyes still 
gleaming with recent tears: 

“ I am asking a favour now — by way of a change. 
Lucius on my honour — and I know no greater oath with you 
than that — this has been a perfectly harmless piece of 
fun. It arose from a remark of that nice Irish stewardess 
on the Cryptic that no one was good enough to marry Joy 
except one man : the young nobleman whom she had nursed. 
And she really came to believe that it would come oflf. She 
says she has some sort of foreknowledge of things.” The 
Colonel smiled: 

“ Granted all this, my dear ; what is it you want me 
to do?” 

“ To do nothing ! ” she answered quickly. Then she 
went with some hesitation : 

“ Lucius you are so determined when you take up an 
idea, and I know you are not pleased with this little joke. 
You are mixing it up with honour — the honour that you 
fight about; and if you go on, it may cause pain to us all. 
We are only a pack of women, after all, and you mustn’t 
be hard on us.” 

“Judy, my dear, I am never hard on a woman, am I?” 

“ No ! Indeed you’re not,” she avowed heartily. “ You’re 
the very incarnation of sweetness, and gentleness, and ten- 
derness, and chivalry with them . . . But then you 

take it out of the men that cross you ! ” 


LADY ATHLYNE 


36 

That’s as a gentleman should be, I take it ” he said, 
reflectively, unconsciously stroking his white moustache. 
Then he said briskly : 

“ Now Judy seriously tell me what you wish me to do 
or not to do. I must have some kind of clue to your 
wishes, you know.” As she was silent for the moment he 
went on gravely. I think I understand, my dear. Be 
quite content, I take it all for a joke and a joke between 
us it shall remain. But I must speak to Joy about it. There 
are some things which if used as subjects for jokes 
lead to misunderstandings. Be quite easy in your mind. 
You know I love my daughter too well to give her a 
moment’s pain that I can spare her. Thank you Judy for 
speaking to me I might have misunderstood and gone 
perhaps too far. But you know how sensitive — ‘ touchy ’ 
Joy calls it — about my name and my family I am; and I 
hope you will always bear that in mind. And besides my 
dear, there is the other gentleman to be considered. He 
too, may have a word to say. As he is a nobleman he 
ought to be additionally scrupulous about any misuse of 
his name ; and of course I should have to resent any impli- 
cation made by him against any member of my family ! ” 

“ Good Lord! ” said Judy to herself, as he stood up and 
left her with his usual courtly bow. What a family to 
deal with. This poor little joke is as apt to end in bloodshed 
as not. The Colonel is on the war-path already; I can see 
that by his stateliness ! ” 

Colonel Ogilvie thought over the matter for a whole day 
before he spoke to Joy; he was always very grave and 
serious regarding subjects involving honour and duty. 

Joy knew that he had something on his mind from his 
abstraction, and rather kept out of his way. This was not 
on her own account for she had no idea that she was involved 
in the matter, but simply because it was her habit to sympa- 
thise with him and to think of and for him. She was just 
a little surprised when the next afternoon he said to her 


DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT 


37 

as they stood together at the back of the wheel-house over 
the screw, the quietest place on the ship for a talk: 

‘‘ Joy dear, I want you to listen to me a minute.’’ 

‘‘Yes, Daddy!” 

“ About that joke you had on the Cryptic/^ 

“ Yes, Daddy.” She was blushing furiously ; she under- 
stood now. 

“ My dear, I don’t object to your having any little harm- 
less romance of that kind. I don’t suppose it would make 
any difference if I did. A young girl will have her dreaming 
quite independent of her old daddy. Isn’t it so, little girl ? ” 

“ I suppose so, dear Daddy, since you say it.” She 
nestled up close to him comfortably as she spoke : this was 
nicer talk than she expected. 

“ But there is one thing that you must be careful about : 
There must be no names ! ” 

“ How do you mean. Daddy ? ” 

“ I gather that there has been a joke amongst some of 
you as to calling you the Countess or Lady Athlyne, or 
some of that kind of foolishness. My dear child, that is 
not right. You are not the Countess, nor Lady Athlyne, 
nor Lady anything. A name my dear when it is an honour- 
able one is a very precious possession. A woman must 
cherish the name she does possess as a part of her honour.” 

“ I am proud of my name. Father, very, very proud of 
it ; and I always shall be ! ” She had drawn herself upright 
and had something of her father’s splendid personal pride. 
The very use of the word ‘ Father ’ instead of ‘ Daddy ' 
showed that she was conscious of formality. 

“ Quite right, little girl. That is your name now ; and 
will in a way always be. But you may marry you know; 
and then your husband’s name will be your name, and 
you will on your side be the guardian of his honour. We 
must never trifle with a name, dear. Those people who 
go under an alias are to my mind the worst of criminals.” 

“ Isn’t that rather strong. Daddy, when murder and 


LADY ATHLYNE 


38 

burglary and theft and wife-beating and cheating at cards 
are about ! ” She felt that she was through the narrow place 
now and could go back to her raillery. But her father was 
quite grave. He walked up and down a few paces as 
though arranging his thoughts and words. When he spoke 
he did so carefully and deliberately : 

“ Not so, little girl. These, however bad they may be, 
are individual offences and are punished by law. But a 
false name — even in jest, my dear — is an offence against 
society generally, and hurts and offends every one. And 
in addition it is every one of the sins you have named ; and 
all the others in the calendar as well.” 

“ How on earth do you make out that. Daddy ? ” 

“ Take them in order as you mentioned them. Murder, 
burglary, theft, wife-beating, cheating at cards! What is 
murder? Killing without justification I Does not one who 
approaches another in false guise kill something? The 
murderer takes the life; the other kills what is often more 
than life: self respect, belief in human nature, faith. One 
only kills the body; but the other kills the soul. Burglary 
and theft are the same offence differently expressed; theft 
is the meaner crime that is all. Well, disguise is the thief’s 
method. Sometimes he relies on absence of others, some- 
times on darkness, sometimes on a mask, sometimes on the 
appearance or identity of some one else. But he never 
deals with the normal condition of things ; pretence of some 
kind must always be his aid. The man, therefore, who 
relies on pretence, when he knows that the truth would be 
his undoing, is a thief.” 

“ Daddy you argue as well as a Philadelphia lawyer ! ” 

“ I don’t believe much in lawyers 1 ” said the old man 
dryly. “ As to wife-beating ! ” 

“ I’m afraid you’ve struck a snag there. Daddy I There 
isn’t much pretence about that crime, anyhow ! ” 

“ Not at all, my dear. That comes within the category 
of murder. The man who descends to that abominable 


DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT 39 

crime would kill the woman if he dared. He is a coward as 
well as a murderer, and should be killed like a mad dog ! ” 

“ Bravo ! Daddy. I wish there was a man like you to 
deal with them in every county. But how about cheating 
at cards. That's a poser, I think!” 

No trouble about that, Joy. It is cheating at cards.” 

“ How do you argue that out, Daddy ? ” 

“ Any game of cards is a game of honour. So many 
cards, so much skill in playing them according to the recog- 
nised rules of the game; and, over all, a general belief in 
the honour of all the players. I have seen a man shot 
across a handkerchief — in honourable duel, my dear — for 
hesitating markedly at poker when he stood pat on a ‘ full 
house.^ That was pretence, and against the laws of honour ; 
and he paid for it with his life.” Joy wrinkled her brows; 

I see it's quite wrong, father, but I don't quite see how 
it fits into the argument,” she said. 

‘‘ That is simple enough, daughter. As I say, it is a 
pretence. Don't you see that after all a game of cards 
is a simple thing compared with the social life of which 
it is only an occasional episode. If a man, — or a woman 
either, Joy — misleads another it must be with some inten- 
tion to deceive. And in that deception, and by means of 
it, there is some gain — something he or she desires and 
couldn't otherwise get. Isn't that plain enough ! ” 

All right. Father ; I quite see. I understand now what 
you mean. I did not ever look at things in quite that way. 
Thank you very much, dear, for warning me so kindly too. 
I'll stop the joke, and not allow it to go on — so far as I 
can stop it.” 

‘‘ How do you mean ? Does anyone else know it ? ” 

“ I may have written to one or two girls at home. Daddy. 
You know girls are always fond of such foolishness.” 

‘‘ Had you not better write to them and tell them not 
to mention it.” 

“ Good Gracious ! Why you dear, old goose of a Daddy 


40 


LADY ATHLYNE 


it is evident you don’t know girls. That would be the very 
way to make things buzz. Oh no! we’ll simply drop it; 
and they’ll soon forget it. I may have to tell them some- 
thing else, though, to draw them away from it.” 

“ Hm ! ” said her father. She looked at him with a sly 
archness : 

“ I suppose. Daddy, it wouldn’t do to have it that an 
Italian Grand Duke proposed for me — to you of course I ” 

“ Certainly not, Miss Impudence ! I’m not to be drawn 
into any of your foolish girls’ chatter. There, run away 
and let me smoke in peace ! ” She turned away, but came 
back. 

“ Am I forgiven. Daddy ? ” 

Forgiven ! Lord bless the child, why there’s nothing 
to forgive. I only caution. I know well that my little 
girl is clear grit, straight through; and I trust her as I 
do myself. Why Joy, darling ” he put his arm affectionately 
round her shoulder “ you are my little girl ! The only one 
I have or ever shall have; and so, God willing, you shall 
be to me to the end.” 

“ Thank you dear, dear Daddy. And I pray so too. I 
shall always be your little girl to you and shall come to 
you to cheer you or to be comforted myself. Mother has 
of late taken to treating me like a grown-up which she 
always keeps firing off at me so that I don’t know whether 
I am myself or not. But whatever I am to anyone else, I 
never shall be anything to you but your ‘ little girl ! ’ ” 

And that compact was sealed then and there with a kiss. 

Nine months later whilst Colonel Ogilvie was in the 
library of his own house, “ Air ” in Airlville, Joy came in 
and closed the door carefully ; she came close and 
whispered : 

“ Am I still your little girl. Daddy ? ” 

“ Always my dear ! always 1 ” 

“ Then you don’t mind having a secret with me ? ” 


DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT 


41 


" Mind my dear ! I love it. What is it you want to tell 
me ? She took a folded newspaper from her pocket and 
handed it to him, saying : 

“ I came across this in the New York Tribune. Read 
it ! ” Colonel Ogilvie turned it over with a rueful look as 
he said : 

“ The whole of it ! ” 

“ Oh Daddy, don’t be tiresome ; of course not.” Her 
father’s face brightened : 

“ Then you read what you want me to know. Your 
eyes are better than mine ! ” Joy at once began to read : 

“ From our own Correspondent, Capetown. Some de- 
tails of the lamentable occurrence at de Hooge’s Spruit 
which was heliographed from the front yesterday have now 
come to hand. It appears that a battery of field artillery 
was ordered to proceed from Bloomgroot to Neswick es- 
corted by a Squadron of mixed troops taken from the 
Scottish Horse and the Mounted Yeoman. When they 
had begun to cross the river, which here runs so rapidly 
that great care has to be observed lest the horses should 
be swept away, a terrific fusillade from an entrenched force 
of overwhelming numbers was opened on them. Colonel 
Seawright who commanded ordered a retreat until the 
disposition of the enemy could be ascertained. But before 
the manoeuvre could be effected the British force was half 
wiped out. Accurate fire had been concentrated on the 
artillery horses, and as the guns were all on the river bank 
ready for the crossing it was impossible to rescue them. 
Gallant efforts were made by the gunners and the cavalry 
escort, but in the face of the hail of bullets the only result 
was a terrible addition to the list of killed and wounded. 
Seeing that the ground was partly clear, a number of Boers 
crept out of cover and tried to reach the guns. At this 
our troops made another gallant effort and the Boers dis- 
appeared. Still it was almost hopeless to try to save the 
guns. One only of the battery was saved and this by as 


42 


LADY ATHLYNE 


gallant an effort on the part of one young officer as has 
been as yet recorded in the war. Captain Lord Athlyne 
Here Joy looked up for an instant and saw a frown suddenly 
darken her father’s brow — “ who was tentatively in com- 
mand of a yeomanry troop took a great coil of rope one 
end of which was held by some of his men. When he was 
ready he rode for the guns at a racing pace, loosing the rope 
as he went. It was a miracle that he came through the 
terrific fire aimed at him by the Boer sharp-shooters. Hav- 
ing gained the last gun, behind which there was a momentary 
shelter, he attached the end of the rope. Then mounting 
again he swept like a hurricane across the zone of fire. 
There was a wild cheer from the British, and a number 
of horsemen began to ride out whilst the firing ran along 
the front of the waiting line. But the instant the rope was 
attached the men began to pull and the gun actually raced 
along the open space. In the middle of his ride home the 
gallant Irishman’s cap was knocked off by a bullet. He 
reined up his charger, dismounted and picked up the cap 
and dusted it with his handkerchief before again mounting. 
Despite their wounds and the chagrin of defeat the whole 
force cheered him as he swept into the lines. 

“ Daddy I call that something like a man ! Don’t you ? ” 
Her colour was high and her eyes were blazing. She looked 
happy when her father echoed her enthusiasm: 

“I do ! daughter. That was the action of a gallant 
gentleman ! ” There was a silence of perhaps half a minute. 
Then Colonel Ogilvie spoke: 

“ But why, my dear, did you tell this to mef ” 

‘‘ I had to tell some one. Daddy. It is too splendid to 
enjoy all one’s self; and I was afraid if I told Mother she 
might not understand — she’s only a woman you know, and 
might put a wrong construction on my telling her, and so 
worry herself about me. And I didn’t dare to tell Aunt 
Judy, for she’s so chock full of romance that she would 
have simply gone crazy and chaffed me out of all reason. 


DE HOOGE’S SPRUIT 


43 

There is no holding back Aunt Judy when she is chasing 
after a romance ! And besides, Daddy dear ’’ here she took 
his arm and looked up in his face “ I wanted you to know 
that Lord Athlyne is a gentleman.” Her father frowned : 

Why should I know — or care ? ” 

“ Not on your own part Daddy — but — but only because I 
want you to. It is hard to explain, but I think you took 
a prejudice against him from the first; and you see it makes 
it less awkward to be coupled with a man’s name, when 
the name and the man are good ones.” The Colonel’s 
frown was this time one of puzzlement. 

I’m afraid I don’t understand. You never saw the 
man. Why should you dislike less to be coupled with him 
because he did a brave thing? Besides, the whole thing is 
mere nonsense.” 

“ Of course it is. Daddy. All nonsense. But it is better 
to be good nonsense than bad nonsense ! ” 

“ Look here daughter — my little girl — I’m afraid you have 
got or may get too fond of thinking of that fellow. Take 
care ! ” 

“ Oh, that’s all right. Daddy. He is only an abstraction 
to me. But somehow he interests me. Don’t you be worry- 
ing about me. I promise you solemnly that I will tell you 
everything I hear about him. Then you can gauge my feel- 
ings, and keep tab of my folly.” 

“ All right ; little girl ! There can’t be anything very 
dangerous when you tell your father all about it.” 

It was three months before Joy mentioned the name of 
Lord Athlyne again to her father. One morning she came 
to him as he sat smoking in the garden at Air. Her eyes 
were glistening, and she walked slowly and dejectedly. In 
her hand she held a copy of the New York Tribune, She 
held it out, pointing with her finger to a passage. 

“ Read it for me, little girl ! ” In answer she said with a 
break in her voice : 


44 


LADY ATHLYNE 


‘'You read it. Daddy. Don’t make me. It hurts me; 
and I should only break down. It is only a dream I know ; 
but it is a sad dream and is over all too soon ! ” Colonel 
Ogilvie read the passage which was an account of the fight- 
ing at Durk River in which numbers of the British were 
carried away by the rapid stream, the hale and those 
wounded by the terrible fire of the Boers alike. The list 
of the missing was headed by a name he knew. 

“ Major the Earl of Athlyne, of the Irish Hussars.” 

The old gentleman rose up as stiff as at the salute and 
raised his hat reverently as he said : 

“ A very gallant gentleman. My heart is with you, my 
little girl! A dream it may have been; but a sad ending 
to any dream ! ” 

A week after Joy sought her father again, in the garden. 
This time her step was buoyant, her face radiant, and her 
eyes bright. The moment her father saw he felt that it had 
something to do with what he called in his own mind “ that 
infernal fellow.” When she was close to him she said in a 
low voice that thrilled : 

“ He is not dead. Daddy ! He was wounded and carried 
down the river and was captured by the Boers and taken 
up to Pretoria. They have put him in the Birdcage. 
Beasts! It’s all here in the Tribune.” 

Colonel Ogilvie was distinctly annoyed. When he could 
look on Lord Athlyne as dead he could admire his bravery, 
and even tolerate the existence that had been. But this 
chopping and changing — this being dead and coming to life 
again — was disturbing. What sort of fellow was he that 
couldn’t make up his mind on any subject? Couldn’t he 
remain dead like a gentleman? He had died like one; 
wasn’t that enough ! Joy saw that he was not pleased. She 
was too glad for the moment to take her father’s attitude to 
heart ; but every instinct in her told her not to remain. So 
she laid the paper on his knee and said quietly : 


DE HOOGE^S SPRUIT 


45 

“ ril leave it with you, Daddy. You can read it yourself; 
it’s worth reading. You are glad, I know, because your 
little girl is glad that there is one more brave man in the 
world.” 

Just as she was going her father called her back. When 
she was close he said in a kindly manner but with great 
gravity : 

“ No more mentioning names now, little girl ! ” She put 
her finger to her lip as registering a vow of secrecy. Then 
she blew a kiss at him and tripped away. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE BIRD-CAGE 

The Bird-cage ” at Pretoria was the enclosure wherein the 
captured British officers were imprisoned during the second 
quarter of the year 1900. Here at the beginning of May 
two men were talking quietly as they lay on the bare ground 
in the centre of the compound. The Bird-cage was no home 
of luxury ; but the men who had perforce to live in it tried 
to make the best of things, and grumbling was tacitly dis- 
countenanced. These two had become particular chums. 
For more than a month they had talked over everything 
which seemed of interest. At first of course it was the war 
and all connected with it which interested them most. They 
were full of hope; for though six months of constant re- 
verses were behind them they could not doubt that Time 
and General Roberts would prevail. These two items of 
expected success were in addition to the British Army gen- 
erally and the British soldier’s belief in it. When every 
battle or engagement which either of them had been in had 
been fought over again, and when their knowledge of other 
engagements and skirmishes had come to an end they fell 
back on sport. This subject held out for some time. The 
memories of both were copious of pleasant days and inter- 
esting episodes ; and hopes ran high of repetitions and varia- 
tions when the war should be over and the Boers reduced 
to that acquiescence in British methods and that loyalty to 
the British flag which British pride now demanded. Then 
“ woman ” had its turn, and every flirtation with the bounds 
of memory was recalled, without names or indentification 
marks. 

Then, when they knew each other better, they talked of 
the future in this respect. Young men, whatever exceptions 

46 


THE BIRD-CAGE 


47 

these may be, are very sentimental. They are at once im- 
aginative and reticent. Unlike girls their bashfulness is in- 
ternal. The opening of their hearts, even in a measure, to 
each other in this respect was the crowning of their con- 
fidence. At this time they were occasionally getting let- 
ters. These had of course gone through the hands of the 
censor and their virginity thus destroyed; but the craving 
of all the prisoners for news of any kind, from home or 
elsewhere, was such that every letter received became in a 
measure common property. Even from intimate letters 
from their own womenkind parts were read out that had 
any colourable bearing on public matters. A few days be- 
fore one of the men had a letter from his wife who was in 
Capetown; a letter which though it was nothing but a let- 
ter of affection from a loving wife, was before the day was 
over read by every man in the place. It had puzzled the 
husband at first, for though it was in his wife’s writing the 
manner of it was not hers. It was much more carefully 
written than was her wont. Then it dawned on him that it 
had a meaning. He thought over it, till in a flash he saw it 
all. It was written by her, but she had copied it for some 
one else and signed it. The passage of the letter that now 
most interested him read : 

‘T do so long to see you, my darling, that if I do not see 
you before, I am going to ask to be allowed to come up to 
Pretoria and see you there if I may, if it is only a glimpse 
through that horrid barbed wire netting that we hear of. 
You remember my birthday is on Waterloo day; and I am 
promising myself, as my birthday treat, a glimpse of the 
face of my dear husband.” 

It did not do to assemble together, for the eyes of the 
jailors were sharp and an organized meeting of the prison- 
ers was suspicious and meant the tightening of bonds. So 
one by one he talked with his fellows, telling them what 
he thought and always imploring them to maintain the ap- 
pearance of listless indifference which they had amongst 


LADY ATHLYNE 


48 

themselves decided was the attitude best calculated to 
avert suspicion. Some did not at first understand the cryptic 
meaning; but the general belief was that it was a warning 
that the capture of Pretoria was expected not later than 
the fifteenth of June. This created enormous hopes. 
Thenceforth all the talk in private was as to what each 
would do when the relief came. 

To-day the conversation was mainly about Athlyne’s af- 
fairs. He had been unfolding plans to his friend Captain 
Vachell of the Yeomanry and the latter asked him sud- 
denly : 

“By the way, Athlyne, are you married.” 

“What! — Me married! Lord bless you man, no! Why 
do you ask?” 

“I gathered so from what you have been saying just 
now. Don’t be offended at my asking ; but I have a special 
purpose.” 

“I’m not a bit offended ; why should I be ? Why do you 
ask me?” 

“That’s what I want to tell you. But old chap this is a 
delicate subject and I want to clear the ground first. It is 
wiser.” Athlyne sat up: 

“Look here, Vachell, this is getting interesting. Clear 
away ! ” The other hesitated and then said suddenly : 

“ You never went through a ceremony of marriage, or 
what professed to be one, with anyone I suppose? I really 
do ask pardon for this.” 

“Honestly, Vachell, I’m not that sort of man. I have 
lots of sins on me; more than my fair share perhaps. But 
whatever I have done has been above board.” The other 
went on with dogged persistence: 

“You will understand when I explain why I ask; but 
this is your matter, not mine, and I want to avoid making 
matters still more complicated. That is of course if there 
should be any complication that you may have overlooked 
or forgotten.” 


THE BIRD-CAGE 


49 

“Good God ! man, a marriage is not a thing a man could 
overlook or forget.” 

“Oh that’s all right with a real marriage; or even with 
a mock marriage if a man didn’t make a practice of it. 
But there might be some woman, with whom one had some 
kind of intrigue or irregular union, who might take advan- 
tage of it to place herself in better position. Such things 
have been you know, old chap!” he added sententiously. 
Athlyne laughed. 

“Far be it from me to say what a woman might or might 
not do if she took it into her pretty head ; but I don’t think 
there’s any woman who would, or who would ever think she 
had the right to, do that with me. There are women, lots of 
them I am afraid, who answer the bill on the irregular 
union or intrigue side; but I should certainly be astonished 
if any of them ever set out to claim a right. Now I have 
made a clean breast of it. Won’t you tell me what all this 
is about?” The other looked at him steadily, as though to 
see how he took it, as he answered : 

“ There is, I am told, a woman in New York who is 
passing herself otf as your wife 1 ” 

Athlyne sprang to his feet and cried out: 

“What!” 

“That’s what I took it to mean ! By the way — ” this was 
said as if it was a sudden idea “I take it that your mother 
is not alive. I had it in my mind that she died shortly after 
you were born?” 

“Unhappily that is so!” 

“There is no dowager Countess?” 

“Not for more than thirty years. Why?” 

“ The letter says ‘ Countess of Athlyne.’ I took it to be 
your wife.” 

“Let me see the letter.” He held out his hand. Vachell 
took from his pocket — ^the only private storage a man had 
in the Bird-cage — an envelope which he handed to his com- 
l rade, who took from it a torn fragment of a letter. He 


LADY ATHLYNE 


50 

read it then turned it over. As he did so his eyes lit up ; he 
had seen his own name. He read it over several times, 
then he looked up: 

“Have you read it?” 

“Yes. I was told to do so.” 

“All right! Then we can discuss it together. He read 
it out loud : 

“ So Athlyne is married. At least I take it so, for there is 
a woman in New York, I am told, who calls herself the 
Countess of Athlyne. I know nothing of her only this: a 
casual remark made in a gossipy letter.” 

“Now tell me, Vachell, can you throw any light on this?” 

“Not on the subject but only on the way it has come to 
you. I had better tell you all I know from the beginning.” 
Athlyne nodded, he went on: 

“ Whilst we were in the trenches at Volks Spruit waiting 
for the attack to sound, Meldon and I were together — ^you 
remember Meldon of the Connaught Fusiliers?” 

“Well! We often hunted together.” 

“He asked me that if anything should happen to him I 
would look over his things and send them home, and so 
forth. I promised, but I asked him why he so cast down 
about the fight that was coming; was it a presentiment or 
anything of that kind. ‘ Not a bit,’ he said, ‘ it’s not spirit- 
ualism but logic ! You see it’s about my turn next. All our 
lot have been wiped out, going up the line in sequence. 
Rawson, my junior, was last ; and now I come on. And there 
is a message I want you to carry on in case I’m done for. 
You will find among my papers an envelope directed to Lord 
Athlyne. It has only a scrap of paper in it so I had better 
explain. The last time I saw Ebbfleet of the Guards — in 
Hospital just before he died — he asked me to take the mes- 
sage. ' You know Athlyne ’ he said ‘ I got a letter saying a 
woman in New York was calling herself his wife, and as 
I know he is not married I think it only right that he should ^ 
know of this. It will put him on his guard.’ Well you 


THE BIRD-CAGE 


51 

know poor Meldon went under at Sandaal; and so I took 
over the message. When you and I met up here I thought 
we were in for a long spell and as we couldn’t do anything 
I came to the conclusion that there was no use giving you 
one more unpleasant thing to think of and grind your teeth 
over. But now that we know Bobs and Kitchener are com- 
ing up before long I want to hand over to you. It is 
evident that they expect us to be ready to help the force 
from within when they come, or else they wouldn’t run 
the chance of telling us. Four thousand men, even with- 
out arms, are not to be despised in a scrimmage. If the 
wily Boer tumbles to it they will take us up the mountains 
in several sections, and I may not have another chance.” 

“That is all you know of the matter I take it?” 

“ Absolutely ! Of course should I hear anything more I 
shall at once let you know. Though frankly I don’t see 
how that can be ; both men who sent the message are dead. 
I haven’t the faintest idea of who sent the original report. 
Of course, old chap, I am mum on the subject unless you 
ever tell me to speak.” 

“Thanks, old man. I fancy there won’t be much time 
for looking after private affairs for a good spell to come 
after we have shifted our quarters. There will be a devil 
of a lot of clearing up when the house changes hands and 
continues to ‘run under new management,’ as Bung says.” 

All that had been spoken of came off as arranged by 
the various parties. On the fifth of June Roberts took 
Pretoria in his victorious march. Mafeking and Ladysmith 
had been relieved, and Johannesberg had fallen. Now, 
Kruger and the remainder of his forces were hurrying into 
the Lydenburg mountains to make what stand they could; 
and not the least keen of their foes were those who had 
been their guests in the Bird-cage. Athlyne rejoined his 
regiment and was under Buller’s command till the routed 
army escaped into Portuguese territory. Then he was sent 


LADY ATHLYNE 


52 

by Kitchener along the ranges of block houses whose segre- 
gations slowly brought the war to an end. 

When his turn came for going home three years had 
elapsed. London and his club claimed him for his spells of 
his short leave, for there was still much work to be done with 
his regiment. When he began to tire of the long round of 
work and distractions he commenced to think seriously 
of a visit to America. 

His experience of the war had sobered him down. He 
was now thirty-two years of age, the time when most men, 
who have not arrived there already, think seriously of 
settling down to matrimony. In other respects he wanted 
to be free. He was tired of obeying orders ; even of giving 
them. The war was over and Britain was at peace with the 
world. Had there been still fighting going on anywhere 
such thought would not have occurred to him; he would 
still have wanted to be in the thick of it. But the long 
months of waiting and inactivity, the endless routine, the 
impossibility of doing anything which would have an im- 
mediate effect; all these things had worn out much of his 
patience, and stirred the natural restlessness of his dis- 
position. At home there seemed no prospect of following 
soldiering in the way he wished: some form in which ex- 
citement had a part. Indeed the whole scheme of War and 
Army seemed to be shaping themselves on lines unfamiliar 
to him. The idea of the old devil-may-care life which had 
first attracted him and of which he had had a taste did not 
any longer exist, or, if it existed it was not for him. Out- 
side actual fighting the life of a soldier was not now to 
consist of a series of seasonable amusements. And even if 
it did the very routine of amusements not only did not sat- 
isfy him, but became irksome. What, after all, he thought, 
was to a grown man a life of games in succession. Polo 
and cricket, fishing, shooting, hunting in due course; rac- 
quets and tennis, yachting and racing were all very well 
individually. But they did not seem to lead anywhere. 


THE BIRD-CAGE 


53 

In fact such pastimes now seemed inadequate to a man 
who had been actively taking a part in the biggest game 
of them all, war! 

When once the idea had come to him it never left him. 
Each new disappointment, the unfulfilled expectation of 
interest, drove it further and further home. There was 
everywhere a lack of his old companions; always a crowd 
of new faces. The girls he had known and liked because 
they were likable, had got married within the few years of 
his absence. The matrons had made fresh companionships 
which held possession. Bridge had arisen as a new society 
fetish which drew to itself the interests and time of all. A 
new order of “ South African Millionaires ” had arisen who 
by their wealth and extravagance had set at defiance the 
old order of social caste, and largely changed the whole 
scheme of existing values. 

When he fled away from London he found something of 
the same changes elsewhere. In the stir of war, and even 
in the long weariness of waiting which followed it, the 
whirling along of the great world was, if not forgotten, 
unthought of. The daily work and the daily interest were 
so personal and so absorbing that abstract thinking was 
not. 

In the country, of course, the changes were less, but 
they were more marked. The few years had their full tally 
of loss ; of death, and decay. The eyes that saw them were 
so far fresh eyes, that unchecked memory had not a perpet- 
ual ease of comparison. 

For a while he tried hard to find a fresh interest in his 
work. But here again was change with which he could 
feel neither sympathy nor toleration. Great schemes of 
reform were on foot; schemes of organization, of recruit- 
ing, of training. The ranks in the Service, of which he 
had experience, were becoming more mechanical than ever. 
Had he by this time acquired higher rank in the army it is 
possible that he would have entered with ardour into the 


54 


LADY ATHLYNE 


new conditions. He was fitted for such; young, and ener- 
getic, and daring. Those in the Cabinet or in the Army 
Council have material for exercising broader views of the 
machinery of war, and to the eyes of such many things 
which looked at in detail seem wrong or foolish stand out 
in their true national importance. 

His dissatisfaction with the army changes was the 
last straw. He took it into his head that in future the 
army had no place for him. The idea multiplied day by 
day with an ever-increasing exasperation. At last his mind 
was definitely made up. He sent in his papers; and in due 
time retired. 

It is generally the way with human beings that they ex- 
pect some radical change in themselves and their surround- 
ings to follow close on some voluntary act. They cannot 
understand, at once at all events, that the “ eternal ver- 
ities ” are eternal. “ I may die but the grass will grow ” says 
Tennyson in one of his songs. And this is the whole 
story in epitome. After all, what is one life, howsoever 
perfect or noble it may be, in the great moving world of 
fact. The great Globe floats in a sea of logic which en- 
compasses it about everywhere. What is ordained is or- 
dained to an end, and no puny hopes or fears or wishes of an 
individual can sway or change its course. Conclusions fol- 
low premises, results follow causes. We rebel against facts 
and conditions because they are facts and conditions. Then 
for some new whim or purpose entirely our own we take 
a new step — forward or backward it matters not — and lo! 
we expect the whole world with its million years of slow 
working up to that particular moment to change too. 

This belief that things must change in accordance with 
our desires has its base deep down in our nature. At the 
lowest depth it is founded on Vanity. We are so important 
to ourselves that we cannot but think that that importance 
is sustained through all creation. 

For a little while Lord Athlyne tried to persuade himself 


THE BIRD-CAGE 


55 

that now, at last, he was enjoying freedom. No more 
parades or early hours ; no more orderly rooms or mess 
dinners, or duties at functions; no more of the bald, stale 
conventionalities of an occupation which had lost its charm. 
He expected each day to be now joyous with the realization 
of ancient hopes. 

But the expectations were not realized. The days seemed 
longer than ever, and he actually yearned for something to 
fill up his time. Naturally his thoughts turned, as in the 
case of sportsmen they ever do, on big game. The idea 
took him and he began to plan out in his mind where he 
would go. Africa for lions? No! no! He had had enough 
of Africa to last him for some time. India for tigers; the 
Rockies for bear? 

Happy thought. Bear would just suit. He could put in 
two things : look up that woman in New York who claimed 
to be his wife and silence her. He wouldn’t like such an 
idea to go abroad in case he should ever marry. Then he 
would go on to the Rockies or Colorado and have a turn 
at the grizzlies. 

He went straightway into the reading room of the club he 
was in and began to study Bradshaw. 

At last he had found a new interest in life. For a week 
he devoted himself to the work in hand, until his whole 
sporting outfit was prepared. Then he began to think of 
the other quest ; and the more he thought of it the more it 
puzzled him. 


CHAPTER V 


an adventure 

With regard to his quest after his alleged wife the first 
conclusion Lord Athlyne came to was that he must go in- 
cognito — “ under an alias ’’ he expressed it to himself. 
Otherwise he would give warning of his presence, and that 
was the very thing which he wished to avoid. The woman 
must be an unscrupulous one or she would not have entered 
on such a scheme of fraud ; and she would naturally be quick 
to protect herself by concealment or flight. An ordinary 
individual would have left such an investigation to his solic- 
itors who would have procured the services of local detec- 
tives. But then Athlyne was not an ordinary individual. 
He liked to do things for himself in most matters which 
interested him; and in this case there was so distinctly a 
personal bearing that he would not have been satisfied to 
leave it to any one else. 

When, however, he began to work out details of his alias 
he found that he had landed in a perfect hornet’s nest of 
difficulties. The mere matter of clothing and luggage was, 
he found, almost enough to turn his hair prematurely grey. 
What was the use of taking a false name when his true one 
was engraved on the brass plates of his portmanteaux and 
bags so that every porter would know everything about him 
within five minutes of his arrival; the chambermaid and 
laundress would see the marking of his linen. He very soon 
found that he would have to set about this branch of his 
effort very systematically if he did not want to give himself | 
away hopelessly even before he started. He had already 
come to the conclusion that he must not take a valet with 
him. It would be quite enough to support an alias amongst 

56 


AN ADVENTURE 


57 

his equals, whose habits and breeding had at least a cer- 
tain amount of reticence, without running the risk of the 
world of servants who were much more inquisitive than their 
employers and much more skilled in matters of suspicion 
and detection. 

First he had to decide on the name, and to get familiar 
with it in all sorts of ways; speaking, writing, and hear- 
ing it spoken. The latter he could only effect by hearing 
his own voice; he was conscious that he must, for some 
time at all events, be open to the danger of a surprise. He 
shrank in a certain way from using a name not his own; 
so he salved his conscience by selecting two of the simplest 
of his many names. Thus he became for his own purposes 
Richard Hardy. He fixed his domicile as '‘Sands End,’’ 
a small place in the middle of Wiltshire which he had in- 
herited from his mother. It was too small to be included 
in his ‘list of seats’ in Debrett, and thus answered his pur- 
pose. Then he got quite fresh store of linen from a new 
shop and had it marked ‘R.Hardy’ or ‘R.H.’ He bought 
new trunks and kit of all kinds. He had them marked 
with the same letters, and sent to a lodging which he had 
taken for the purpose under his new name. He had cards 
printed and got plain notepaper as he had to avoid a crest. 
Then he found that all his sporting things, which had al- 
ready been packed, had to be unpacked and overhauled 
lest the real name should remain anywhere. When all this 
was done, and it took weeks to complete, he began to feel 
an unmitigated fraud and a thorough scoundrel. To a man 
who takes honour to be a part of a gentleman’s equipment 
any form of dissimulation must always be obnoxious. 

One person alone he took into his confidence: his solic- 
itor. It was necessary that he should have a bank account 
opened in New York. Also that in case of any unforeseen 
accident it would be at least advisable to be able to explain 
his actions. When the solicitor remonstrated he explained 
his purpose and made a special request that he should not 


LADY ATHLYNE 


58 

be subjected to any opposition. “ I go to protect myself ” 
he said. The other shrugged his shoulders and remained 
silent. He arranged before he terminated the interview that 
his letters should be sent to him under cover to his new 
name at his bankers in New York. In due time an account 
for a large sum was opened there. Then, when all was as 
complete as he could think of, he took a cabin in one of the 
French boats as he thought that in a foreign ship he would 
run less risk of running up against some acquaintance than 
would be likely on a British or American vessel. 

He had hardly got clear of land when he began to 
realize in what a false position he had placed himself. He 
felt that any acquaintanceship which he could make might 
possibly lead to some imbroglio. To those who took him 
in good faith and made friends he must either reveal 
his purpose or accept a false position from which he might 
never be able to extricate himself. As the former was im- 
possible, without creating a suspicion which would destroy 
his purpose, he had to take chance for the latter. The re- 
sult was that had to be aloof and unresponsive to any of 
the proffered friendlinesses of the voyage; and seeing this 
the other passengers did not press friendliness on him or 
even repeat their overtures. He felt this acutely, for he 
had been always in the habit of making friends. Such is 
one of the delights of travel, as all know who have been 
about the world. Those who once ‘‘ rub shoulders ” in a 
casual way often make acquaintanceships which ripen into 
friendship and are life-long. Perhaps this is from the fact 
that in such cases each is taken from the first on his per- 
sonal merits. There being no foreknowledge there cannot 
be any premeditation of purpose of gain of any kind. Like 
meets like, recognises natural kinship; and union is the 
result. 

When after a somewhat tedious and uneventful voyage 
he landed in New York he was altogether in a disappointed 
and a discontented frame of mind. The acute cause of this 


AN ADVENTURE 


59 

was the filling up of the immigration paper which is so ex- 
haustive as to details as to become inquisitorial. The an- 
swering of each question seemed to him like telling a lie — 
as indeed it was. As, however, he had nothing to declare 
and was without obvious objection he had no trouble. The 
only effect from the Customs examination that he noticed 
on himself was that when he drove out of the gates he felt 
somewhat as he had done when he passed from the prison 
pen at Pretoria into the cheering ranks of the victorious 
British army. He was lucky enough to escape from the 
ranks of the journalists who make copy out of any stranger 
of distinction who lands. His name was not sufficiently 
striking to even attract attention. He took quiet rooms 
high up in the “ Manhattan,” and for two days kept his own 
company. 

The third day he went out. He walked through street 
after street; took trolley-cars now and again; went “up 
town ” and “ down town ” on the road. Crossed the ferries 
to New Jersey and Long Island. Lunched at Martin’s 
and dined at Delmonico’s; and returned to his hotel with- 
out having made so far as he knew a step towards dis- 
covery. The only thing which he brought back was a 
slight knowledge of local geography. He had seen some- 
thing of New York — from the streets; but except to ask 
his way from policemen or for food from foreign waiters 
he had not spoken to anybody. 

The next few days he spent in walking about the streets. 
In summing up this afternoon he came to the conclusion 
that there was, for him, nothing so bad in Pretoria. All 
the time he felt with increasing force that he was a fraud, 
and constantly found himself evolving schemes as to how 
he could shed his incognito. The question of clubs alone 
made him unhappy. He had always been a clubbable man ; 
in London he belonged to a number of the best. When- 
ever he had been in any city where there was a club its 
doors had always through the forethought of some friend 


6o 


LADY ATHLYNE 


been thrown open to him. Here was a city so full of those 
masculine refuges that it might be called the “ City of 
Clubs.” In every fashionable street was at least one, palatial 
places where men who were of the great circle met their 
friends. And yet he felt like the Peri outside the gates of 
Paradise. The feeling grew on him that he could not enter 
any one of them, even if he got the chance. How could 
he explain to men that he was not what he seemed — what 
he professed to be. Club-land is in some ways to men holy 
ground. Here they can afford to be natural — to be true. 
Except the club laws, written or unwritten, there is no con- 
ventional demand. As a man who had grown old knowing 
little of any other life put it ; “ In a club you can afford not 
to lie.” (It is to be presumed, by the way, that the speaker 
did not take a part in the conversations regarding episodes 
of fishing or bonnes fortunes!) 

He could not see any way in which he could even begin 
to make his inquiry; or he could get honestly within any 
house he had seen. He became sorry he had ever thought of 
making the inquiry himself — that he had ever come at all. 
Dimly at the back of his thoughts was an intention to go 
back to London, resume his proper name, and then perhaps 
return in an upright way — as a gentleman should. Still he 
was a masterful man and did not like giving up. . . He 
thought a ride would do him good ; it would clear his mind 
and freshen him up. A horseman is never lonely so long 
as he has a horse. 

He asked the hotel clerk where he would get one. The 
man gave him several addresses. Then he added: 

“By the way do you want to buy or only to hire?” 

“ Either. I should buy if I could get something excep- 
tionally good.” 

“Then take my advice. Go up to Seventh Avenue right 
at the top near the Park. There is an auction there this 
morning of fine horses. You will I daresay get what you 
want; but you will doubtless have to pay for it.” 


AN ADVENTURE 


6i 


“I don't mind that!” he smiled as he spoke; he did not 
remember that he had smiled since he left London. The very 
prospect of a horse brightened him up. 

Before going to the Auction he called at the bank and 
drew out a handsome sum. In horse buying ready money 
is often a matter of importance. 

At the Horse Exchange there was a good show, some of 
the horses being of real excellence. Prices ran high for 
these, and competition was spirited. But he got what he 
wanted: a big “Blue Grass” thoroughbred well up to his 
weight. His warranty was complete. The Auctioneer at 
his request brought to him presently a livery man on whom 
he might, he said, depend; and with him he arranged for 
the proper keeping of the horse. 

For a few days Athlyne was really happy. His horse 
was as good as it looked, and had evidently been trained 
by some one who understood him. His mouth was as fine 
as possible and he realized an inflexion of the voice. Lord 
Athlyne rode well, and he knew it; and the horse knew it 
too from the first moment when his hand touched the 
bridle. After the first ride up the Riverside Drive the two 
became understanding friends. 

The effect of the exercise on Lord Athlyne was to do 
away with his intention of trying to discover the identity 
of the offending lady. He would start soon for the Rockies 
and get after the grizzlies. Or better still he would go 
home, shake off his alias, and return — a free man. 

On the Sunday afternoon he went for a ride in the direc- 
tion he liked best, up the Riverside Drive. He went quietly 
till he got near the University where there was a long 
stretch of proper riding ground. There he let the black 
horse go, and the noble beast went along at a splendid 
pace. It was still a little early, and though there were a 
good many pedestrians there were but few persons in car- 
riages or “ horsebacking ” and so the “ ride ” was fairly free. 
Horse and man were a noble pair. The one jet black, full 


62 


LADY ATHLYNE 


of fire and mettle, every movement charged with power and 
grace; the other tall and slim, hard as nails with his long 
spell of South African soldiering, sitting like a centaur. Man 
and horse together moved as one. All eyes were turned on 
them as they swept by, with admiring glances from both 
women and men, each in their respective ways. Two park 
policemen, a sergeant and a roundsman, both finely mounted, 
were jogging quietly along. As the black horse came 
dashing up the roundsman said : 

“Shall I stop him, sergeant?” The other looked on ad- 
miringly and answered quietly: 

“Guess not! ’Twould be a burnin’ shame to stop them 
two. An there won’t be any need neyther, they know what 
they’re doin, Halloran. They ain’t goin’ to ride down no- 
body. Did ye iver see a finer seat. I’d bet that’s an English 
cavalry man. Look at the spring of him. Be the Lord I’d 
like to be in his shoes this minute I” 

Amongst the few riders Athlyne passed on his course 
were an old man and a young woman. The man tall with 
a big white moustache, a haughty bearing, and steely eyes 
under shaggy white brows. The girl tall and slim and 
graceful with black hair and big gray eyes. Both were 
fairly well mounted, but the girl’s mare was restive and 
shying at anything. As the black horse came thundering 
along she had to use considerable skill and force to keep 
her from bolting. Athlyne had just time for a passing 
glance as he swept by; but in that instant the face and 
figure became photographed on his memory. The girl 
turned and looked after him; she was in the receptive 
period of her young womanhood when every man has a 
charm, and when such a noble figure as was now presented 
is a power. With a sigh she turned and said to her com- 
panion : 

“That is the horse that we saw sold at the Horse Ex- 
change. I was jealous of whoever bought it then. I’m not 
now; a man who can ride like that deserves him. Daddy, 


AN ADVENTURE 63 

don’t you think he is something like what a man ought to 
be? Ido!” 

“You’re right, little girl ! But you’d better not say things 
like that to any one else but me; they mightn’t under- 
stand I” Joy made no answer but she smiled to herself. 
During the hour or two that followed she chatted happily 
with her father. They had occasional canters and gallops 
until the road got too crowded when they went along more 
sedately. Whenever her father suggested turning home- 
ward she always pleaded for one more turn : 

“ Just one more, Daddy. It is so delightful here ; and the 
river is so lovely.” Of course she had her way. The old 
man found more true happiness in pleasing her than in 
any other way. In her heart, though she did not tell her 
father for she felt that even he mightn’t understand, she 
had a wish that the man on the black horse would return 
the same way. She had a feeling that he would. 

After his gallop Athlyne went quietly along the road past 
Grant’s Tomb and followed the course of the Drive. Here 
the road descended, circling round the elevation on which 
the Tomb is erected. Below it is the valley of some old 
watercourse into the Hudson. This valley has been bridged 
by a viaduct over which the Drive continues its course up 
the side of the river for many miles. To-day however, it 
was necessary to make a detour, descend the steep on the 
hither side of the valley and rise up the other side. Some 
settlement had affected the base of the up-river end of the 
bridge and it had given way. The rock on which New York 
is based is of a very soft nature, and rots slowly away, so 
that now and again a whole front of a house will slide down 
a slope, the underlying rock having perished. Not long be- 
fore, this had actually happened to a group of houses in 
Park Row. Now the bridge had fallen away ; the road 
ended abruptly, and below lay a great shapeless mass of 
twisted metal and stone. The near end of the viaduct was 


LADY ATHLYNE 


64 

barred off with wooden rails, and in the centre was a great 
board with a warning that the thoroughfare was closed. 

Athlyne rode up as far as the Up-Town Club, sat for 
awhile amongst the trees on the river bank and thought of 
many things. Amongst these of the girl with the gray eyes 
who looked so admiringly at his horse — or himself. Per- 
haps he accepted the latter alternative, for as his thoughts 
ran he smiled and stroked his big moustache. 

When he rode towards town again he kept a sharp look 
out, unconsciously slackening speed when any old man and 
young woman riding together came in sight. He had as- 
cended the eastern side of the valley, over which lay the 
broken viaduct, and commenced to traverse the curved 
slope leading up to Grant’s Tomb when he heard a sudden 
shouting on the road in front and saw a rush of people to 
both sides and up the steps to the Tomb. An instant after 
a mounted constable appeared urging his horse to a gallop 
as he cried out: 

“Clear the road! Clear the road! It’s a run-a-way!” 
Instinctively Athlyne drew to the roadside, a double pur- 
pose in his mind; to keep the way clear as directed, and 
to be able to render assistance if possible. The noise and 
cries drew closer and there was on the hard road a thunder 
of many hoof strokes. Then round the curve swept a 
brown mare dashing madly in a frenzied gallop — ^the neck 
stretched out and the eyes flaming. The woman who rode 
her, a tall girl with black hair and great gray eyes, sat 
easily, holding her reins so as to be able to use them when 
the time should come. She was in full possession of her- 
self. She did not look frightened, though her face was very 
pale. Behind her but a little way off came two mounted 
policemen and the old man with the big white moustache. 
Other men variously mounted came hurrying in the back- 
ground; beyond them a whole long series of horse ve- 
hicles and motor cars. 

As he saw her Athlyne’s heart leaped. This was the 


AN ADVENTURE 


65 

girl whose face had attracted him; his time had come 
quicker than he had dared to hope. He shook his reins 
and started his horse, spurring him with his heels as he 
did so. If he was to be of service he should be able to 
keep at least equal pace; and that would require a quick 
start, for the runaway was going at a great pace. 

And then a great fear fell on him, not for himself but for 
the girl. He knew what perhaps she did not, that the via- 
duct was broken, and that her course lay down the steep 
roadway to the bottom of the little valley. He rode in 
earnest now ; the sloping curved road was so short that if 
he was to stop the mare the effort should be made at once. 
He rode close by her, his powerful horse keeping pace al- 
most without an effort, and said quietly to the girl: 

^‘Try to hold her in if ever so little, there is a steep road 
which you must go down. The viaduct is broken and the 
road barred.” 

‘T can’t,” she said “she has the bit and I am powerless.” 

He struck his heels sharply and the black horse bounded 
forward. The girl saw the movement and understood: 

“Take care” she said quickly “One policeman tried that 
and was thrown over, he may be killed.” As she spoke, 
the words died on her lips; they had rounded the curve 
and the danger ahead lay open to them. It was a choice 
of evils: a dash down the steep incline with a maddened 
mare, or a crash against the barrier cutting off the viaduct. 

But the woman had no choice; the maddened mare took 
her own course. Down the curving slope she dashed and 
went straight for the barrier. This was made of heavy 
balks of timber below, but the rails above were light. 
These she broke through as she leaped ; hurling a cloud of 
broken rails and splinters right and left. The girl had 
nerved herself to the effort when she had seen what was 
coming and held up as at a jump on the hunting field. 

The moment that Athlyne had realized the situation he 
too was ready. Seeing that the mare was making for the 


66 


LADY ATHLYNE 


right side of the barrier he went for the left, and they leaped 
together. The instant they had landed on the other side 
he was ready and rode alongside the mare. Ahead of them 
was the chasm — with death beneath. The girl saw it and 
her pale face grew ashy white. Athlyne, riding level and 
holding his reins in his left hand, hurriedly cried: 

“Loose your stirrup and when I get my arm round you 
take hold of my collar with your left hand. Then try to 
jump to me as I pull you towards me.” 

The girl loosened her boot from the stirrup and let go 
her rein, bending towards him as his arm went round her 
waist and catching his collar as directed. 

“Go!” he cried and she sprang towards him as well as 
she could. He drew her towards him with all his strength, 
and in a second the girl was landed on the pommel of his 
saddle. She knew what she had to do: to leave his right 
hand free, so she clasped both her arms round his neck. 
He pulled at his reins wdth all his might — it was two lives 
now — and cried to the horse. The noble animal seemed to 
understand and threw himself back on his haunches. 

He stopped only a few yards from the open chasm, into 
which the mare went with a wdld rush. 

Athlyne slid from the saddle, holding the girl in his arms. 
As the terrible danger came to an end her eyes closed and 
she sank sensless to the ground. 

Then the deluge! 

Through the barrier, which appeared to melt away be- 
fore them, came a rush of people. Some were on horse- 
back, some on foot, others in buggies, carriages, motor 
cars. Foremost came Colonel Ogilvie who leaped the 
broken barrier; then after him a policeman whose horse 
had manifestly been trained to timber. At last several 
mounted police fearing that some terrible accident might 
occur from the crowding on the viaduct ranged themselves 
in front of the opening and protected it till the coming of 


AN ADVENTURE 67 

a sufficient number of policemen, on foot and panting, had 
arrived to hold it. 

Colonel Ogilvie threw himself from his horse and knelt 
down beside Joy. When he saw that he was only fainting 
he stood up and lifted his hat to her rescuer: 

“I don’t know how to thank you, sir,” he said in a voice 
broken with emotion. “ ’Twas a gallant act! Some day, 
when you have children of your own, you may understand 
what it is to me !” Athlyne who was kneeling, still holding 
up Joy’s head, said in the disconnected way usual to such 
circumstances : 

“Do not mention it! It has been a pleasure to me to be 
of any service,” and so forth. Then, seeing signs in the 
girl’s face of returning animation, he said aloud so as to 
divert some of the attention: 

“Has any one seen after the mare ? The poor brute must 
be mangled, if it has not been killed ; it ought to be put out 
of pain.” 

The poor brute was indeed a pitiable sight; there was a 
sigh of relief from the crowd round it down below when a 
policeman put it out of pain with a revolver shot. 

Seeing that the lady was now recovering and in the 
charge of her father, Athlyne wanted to get away. He 
hated all such fuss and publicity. He could not let her go 
lest she should be hurt, but he signed to her father who 
took his place; then he arose. The girl’s eyelids quivered 
and she gave a heavy sigh. Then the eyes opened and she 
stared wildly at the sea of faces around her. She seemed 
to recall everything in an instant, and with a shudder and 
a violent movement sprang to her feet. 

“Where is he?” she said anxiously. Then, recovering 
her full presence of mind and seeing her father, she turned 
to him and putting her arms round him began to cry on his 
shoulder. 


CHAPTER VI 

TRUE HEART'S-CONTENT 

Athlyne's one idea was now to get away quickly. The 
crowd was gathering closely and were beginning to ask 
questions. One big, intelligent-looking sergeant of police 
had out his note-book. 

** May I ask your name, sorr ? ” 

‘‘ Is that necessary, my good man ? ” 

“Well, we have to report, sorr, but” this he said with 
a confidential look “ it mayn’t be necessary to make it 
public. You see, the lady’s all right' and no one is goin’ 
to make trouble over a dead horse. Though why any man 
would want to keep his name out of the papers for a deed 
like that, bates me ! ” Athlyne beckoned him aside ; they 
leaned against the parapet with their faces towards the 
river. He had by now taken out his pocket-book and 
handed the sergeant a bill with a yellow back. The man’s 
eyes opened when he saw it; and there was more than 
respect in his voice as he said : “ Thank you very much, 

sorr! Be sure I’ll do all I can. An’ I don’t know that we 
can’t pull it off nayther; but ye must look out for them 
blasted kodaks 1 ” 

“ All right sergeant. I’m much obliged for the hint. 
By the way wasn’t one of your men tumbled over ? ” 

“ Yes, sorr ; but I’m tould he wasn’t hurt, only a bruise 
or two an’ the skin from off iv his nose.” 

“ Good ! You’ll tell the lady, she is sure to be distressed 
about him. Give him this for me, please. And here is 
my card. I am at the Manhattan.” 

“ Thank you again, sorr. ’Tis mighty kind of ye. An* 
sorr if I may make so bould. If ye want not to be in all 

68 


TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT 69 

the paapers to-morra betther not ride back. There’ll be a 
million kodaks on the Boulevard.” 

Just then a tall man raised his hat to Colonel Ogilvie 
and said: 

“ My motor is here, sir, and I shall be very happy if you 
will use it for the lady. The chauffeur will leave you 
where you wish.” 

“ Thank you exceedingly. I shall be very grateful. I 
dare say I can get somebody to bring my horse to the 
stables; I couldn’t leave my daughter alone after such a 
shock.” 

“ I’ll see to it, sorr,” said the sergeant, who had come 
close. Colonel Ogilvie gave him his card and said: 

We are at the Holland House. Come up and see me 
some time to-morrow morning. I have some gratitude to 
express to you and your men ! ” 

Whilst this conversation was going on a slim young man 
came up to Athlyne and raising his hat said : 

Can I do anything for you, sir. It will be a pleasure 
I assure you.” Athlyne summed him up a glance as a 
soldier. 

“ Thanks, old fellow,” he said, impulsively holding out his 
hand. “ You’re a soldier aren’t you — a cavalry man?” 

“ No. Field Artillery 27th Battery. But we’re all 
cavalry at West Point. I knew you were a soldier when 
I saw you ride — let alone what you did. What can I 
do?” 

“If it wouldn’t trouble you too much I wish you’d get 
some one to bring my horse to the Exchange in Seventh 
Avenue. You see I want to avoid all this fuss and 
kodaking.” 

“ I should love to ; what a noble animal he is. But I 
shan’t send him. If you don’t mind I’ll ride him myself. 
Catch me missing a ride on a horse like that. May I come 
and see you after.” 

“ Delighted. Manhattan Hotel.” They bowed and 


70 


LADY ATHLYNE 


parted. Athlyne went to Colonel Ogilvie, he felt it would 
be indecorous to leave without a word. 

“ I hope your daughter is all right, sir.’' 

Thanks to you, my brave friend. I am Colonel Ogilvie 
of Airlville. Joy this is Mr. ” Athlyne felt in an in- 

stant like a cad. He realised now, in all its force, the evil 
of deception. Silently he handed his card. Mr. Hardy ” 
her father said. Joy held out her hand and he took it. 

“ I’m not able to thank you, now and here ! ” she said, 
raising to him her glorious grey eyes. He mumbled out a 
few words in reply and raised his hat to part. As he was 
turning away Joy whispered to her father: 

“ Daddy, won’t you ask him to come to see us. Mother 
will want to thank him too. Ask him to come to dinner 
to-night.” 

* My dear, you will be far too upset. Better ” 

“ Nonsense, Daddy dear. I’m all right now. Indeed, 
dear, it will seem strange if you don’t, after what he has 
done for — for you, Daddy dear — and for me.” 

In his own formal and kindly way Colonel Ogilvie gave 
the invitation. Athlyne answered with equal kindly cere- 
mony ; and they parted. 

By this time the stranger’s motor had been taken in 
through the broken barrier. Colonel Ogilvie insisted that 
their host should not leave them, and they drove off 
together. 

In the public excitement at their going Athlyne escaped 
unnoticed. He took the street at right angles and shortly 
got a down-town West-End Avenue car. 

An hour later he had a call from his military friend, who 
announced himself as “ Lootenant R. Flinders Brecken- 
ridge.” Athlyne had now made up his mind how to meet 
him. He said at once : 

“ I am going to try your patience, old chap, and perhaps 
your friendship; but I want you to keep a secret. I can’t 
deceive a comrade; and we military men are that to each 


TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT 


71 

other all the world over. I am here under a false name. I 
had reasons for keeping my identity concealed as I came for 
a special purpose. So I want you to bear with me and keep 
even that much a secret between you and me.” 

“ That's all right ! ” said the boy with a hearty smile. 
“ On my honour Til keep your secret as my own.” 

“ And when I can Til write and let you know ! ” And 
so a friendship began. 

“ Mr. Hardy ” left word at the desk that he would not see 
any one, especially any newspaper man. But on the River- 
side Drive the kodaks had been hard at work; the black 
horse was recognised, and the morning papers had many 
execrable likenesses of Lootenant Breckenridge as he ap- 
peared galloping. 

In the hall of the Holland House Lord Athlyne found 
Colonel Ogilvie waiting for him with that old-fashioned hos- 
pitality which is still to be found in the South. He cordially 
greeted his guest, and when they had come from the elevator 
took his arm to lead him into his own suite. Athlyne was 
quite touched with the greeting extended to him. He had 
not for years been in the way of receiving anything of the 
nature of family affection. But now when his host’s 
warmth was followed by a tearful gratitude on the part of 
his wife which found expression of a quick bending for- 
ward and kissing the hand which she held in hers — to the 
great consternation of the owner thereof — he was sensible 
of feeling foolish. 

“ Oh, pray ! pray ! ” he said, and then remained silent ; 
for what could he do but submit gracefully to such an overt 
outcome of the feelings of a grateful mother. Joy was a 
girl in whom were the elements of passion; was it strange 
that the same emotional yeast worked in her as in her 
mother’s nature. 

The introduction to Miss Judith Hayes was a relief. She 
too felt strongly; no less strongly when she realised that 


LADY ATHLYNE 


72 

the valiant stranger was so handsome and of so distin- 
guished an appearance. But after all the matter was not 
so vitally close to her. An aunt, howsoever loving her na- 
ture may be, cannot be actuated by the’ overwhelming im- 
pulses of mother-hood. This very difference, however, 
made speech easier; she it was who of all the grateful little 
party gave best verbal expression to her feelings. In frank 
phrases, touched with the native warmth of her heart and 
emphasised by the admiring glances of her fine eyes, she 
told him of the gratitude which they all felt for his gallant 
rescue of her dear niece. She finished up with an uncon- 
trollable sob as she said: 

“If it hadn’t been for your bravery and resource and 
strength there would be no more sorrowful band of poor 
souls in all the wide world than — than ” she turned her head 
and walked over to the window. Athlyne could see that for 
quite a minute or two afterwards her shoulders shook. 
When at last she did turn round, her glassy eyes but ill 
accorded with her incisive humorous phrases or her ringing 
laugh. The effect on Athlyne was peculiar ; without analys- 
ing the intellectual process too closely, he felt in his mind 
with a secret exultation that he had “ found an ally.” It 
may have been the soldier instinct, to which he had been so 
long accustomed, working in his mind; or it may have had 
another basis. Anyhow he was content. 

His meeting with Joy surprised whilst it satisfied them 
both. They looked into each other’s eyes for an instant, 
and to them both the whole world became crystal. The 
“ whole world ” to them both — their world — the only world 
that was to them at that moment, that ever could be, that 
had been since the ordination of things. This is the true 
heart’s-content. It is the rapture of hearts, the communion 
of souls. Passion may later burn the rapture into fixed 
belief, as the furnace fixes the painted design on the potter’s 
clay; but in that first moment of eyes looking into answer- 
ing eyes is the dawn of love — the coming together of those 


TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT 73 

twin halves of a perfect soul which was at once the concep- 
tion and realisation of Platonic belief. 

At dinner Athlyne was placed between Mrs. Ogilvie and 
Joy, Colonel Ogilvie being next his daughter and Miss 
Hayes next her sister. Thus Aunt Judy, being opposite 
both her niece and the guest, could watch them both with- 
out seeming to stare. In the early part of the dinner she 
was abnormally, for her, silent; but later on, when she felt 
that things were going dully with some of the party, she 
manifested her usual buoyancy of spirits. She had in the 
meantime come to certain conclusions of her own. 

Somehow there was an air of constraint over all the party, 
but in different ways and from different causes. Athlyne 
was ill at ease because they all made so much of him ; and 
as he was painfuly conscious of his false position in accept- 
ing the hospitality of such persons under an alias, their 
kindness only emphasised to him his own chagrin. Col- 
onel Ogilvie conscious, rather by instinct than from any 
definite word or action, that his guest was more reticent 
than he would have thought a young man would be under 
the circumstances, was rather inclined to resent it. The 
Ogilvies had from the earliest times been very important 
people in their own place ; and many generations of them had 
grown up to the understanding that their friendship, even 
their acquaintance, was an honour. Now when he had 
asked into his family circle a young man known personally 
to him only by his visiting card and by the fact that he had 
saved his daughter's life — very gallantly it was true — ^he 
found his friendly interest in his new acquaintance was not 
received with equal heartiness. The truth was that Athlyne 
was afraid. He felt instinctively that he was not his own 
master whilst those great grey eyes were upon him — most 
certainly not when he was looking into the mystery of their 
depths. And so he feared lest he should become confused 
and weave himself into a further tangle of falseness. In 
the background of his own mind he knew what he wished — 


74 


LADY ATHLYNE 


what he intended; that this beautiful grey-eyed girl should 
become his wife. He knew that he must first get clear of 
his false position ; and he was determined at any cost not to 
let anything interfere with this. At first Colonel Ogilvie’s 
allusions to his home and his place in the world were purely 
kindly; he thought it only right, under the circumstances 
of his great obligation, to show such an interest as a man of 
his age might with another so much his junior. But he 
could not help feeling that though his guest’s manner was all 
that was winning and that though his words were adequate 
there was no loosening of the strings of self-possession. 
Such a thing was new to the Colonel, and new things, espe- 
cially those that he could not understand, were not pleasing 
to him. Still, the man was his guest ; and only a few hours 
before had rendered him the greatest service that one could 
to another. He must not let him, therefore, feel that there 
was any constraint on his part. And so he acted what was 
to him an unfamiliar part; that of an exuberant man. 

Joy was constrained, for with her deep knowledge of her 
father’s character she saw that he was upset by something ; 
and, as that something could only be in connection with the 
guest, she was uneasy. She knew well what her opinion of 
that guest was; and she had a feeling of what her hopes 
would be, dare she give them a voice. But that must be 
postponed — till when she should be alone. In the meantime 
she wanted to enjoy every moment when that guest was by 
her side. And now her breast was stirred with some vague 
uneasiness. 

Mrs. Ogilvie had her own disturbing cause. She could 
not but see that her daughter was very much absorbed in 
this strange gentleman whom she had not ever even seen 
till that afternoon, and she wanted to know more of 
him before she could allow matters to become more definite. 
She knew that he was brave and she could see that he was 
a gentleman and a handsome one. But still — A mother’s 
heart has its own anxieties about her child. And this 


TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT 


75 

mother knew that her child was of no common nature, but 
had her own share of passions which might lead her into 
unhappiness. Too well from herself she knew the urging 
of a passionate nature. Joy had not been tested yet, as she 
had herself been. She had not yet heard that call of sex 
which can alter a woman’s whole life. 

As to Judy her sympathy with romance in any form and 
her love for Joy acted like the two ingredients in a seidlitz- 
powder. Each by itself was placid and innocuous, but when 
united there was a boiling over. It needed no spirit come 
from the grave, or from anywhere else, to tell her of the 
power which this handsome, gallant, young man had already 
over her niece. A single lifting of the girl’s eyes with that 
adorable look which no habit of convenience could restrain ; 
a single lifting or falling of the silky black lashes; a single 
sympathetic movement of the beautiful mouth in its recep- 
tive mood as she took in her companion’s meaning told her 
all these things and a hundred others — told her a story which 
brought back heart-aching reminiscence of her own youth. 
She was not jealous, not a particle — honestly and truly. 
But after all, life is a serious thing, serious to look back on, 
though it seems easy enough to look forward to. The heart 
knoweth its own bitterness. A sorrow’s crown of sorrow 
is remembering happier things.” 

So far, as to possibilities. Judith was much too clever 
and too sympathetic a person to go wrong as to facts on 
which they were based. She was a natural physiognomist, 
like other animals who have learned to trust their instincts ; 
and within a very few minutes had satisfied herself as to 
the worthiness of Joy’s man ” — ^that is how she tabulated 
him in her own mind. She felt quite satisfied as to her 
own judgment, not always the case with her. In her own 
mind, living as she had done for so long in a little world 
of her own thoughts, she was in the habit of arguing out 
things just as she would were she talking with some one 
else, a man for preference. She always wanted to know 


LADY ATHLYNE 


76 

the truth, even if she did not use it. She had once said 
to her sister when they were considering how they should 
act with regard to a scandal in a neighbouring family : 

Well, Sally, it’s all very well not being inquisitive ; but 
you know, my dear, we can’t, begin to lie properly till we 
know what we are to lie about. There’s nothing so 
destructive of after happiness — no kindliness so full of 
pitfalls, as a useless lie.” 

Now, her argument ran: 

You can’t be all wrong about a man. You have thought 
too much on the subject not to be able to form an opinion. 
And even if your old maid’s instinct — for you are an old 
maid, my dear, despite your saying that you are so to 
prove that you are not — warps your judgment in favour of 
the man. The pride that is in that man’s features never 
came out of merely one or two generations of command. 
It takes a couple of centuries at any rate to put that stamp 
on a face. He is bold — well we know that from to-day’s 
work; he is courtly — a man doesn’t do nice things uncon- 
sciously, unless it has been his habit. He’s in love with 
Joy — no doubt about that; and small blame to him for it. 
He’s in her father’s house, an honoured guest as he should 
be. He’s sitting next to her and she’s looking straight into 
his soul with those big lamps of eyes of hers. He saved 
her life a few hours ago, and now he can see — if he’s not 
a fool and he’s not that whatever else he may be — that she 
adores him — and yet he’s not at his ease. . . What is it? 
What does it mean? For Joy’s sake I must find that out. 
I may have to lie a bit; but at least I’ll know what I am 
doing!” 

With this object in view she took, when the charm of 
the meeting began to lose its lustre, the conversation in 
hand herself. She felt that the time had come. Well she 
understood when she saw on Colonel Ogilvie’s face the 
very faintest shade of a shadow of that dark look which in 
earlier years had meant trouble for some one. “ Lucius 


TRUE HEART^S-CONTENT 


77 


is thinking ! ” was the way she put it to herself. To a 
woman of her bringing up, the acts of the men of the 
family, and especially of its head, were not within the 
women’s sphere. In the old slave-owning families there 
was perpetuated something of the spirit of subordination — 
some survival of old feudal principle. This was especially 
so in everything relating to quarrels or fighting. It was 
not women’s work, and women were trained not to take 
any part in it, not even to manifest any concern. Indeed 
the free-spirited Judy having lived so many years in that 
particular atmosphere, before being able to look round her 
in wider communities, compared the dominance of view of 
a man in his own family life to that of a cock who lords it 
over the farmyard, struts about masterfully, and sum- 
mons his household round him with no other purpose than 
his own will. Woman-like she was content to yield herself 
to the situation. 

“ We’re all the same,” she once said to a farmer’s wife, 
** women or hens. When the master clucks we come ! ” 

As it was quite apparent to her that both her sister and 
brother-in-law were uneasy, she began to take on herself 
the responsibility of action, even if it should have to be fol- 
lowed by the odium. 

‘‘What’s the use of being an old maid if you can’t do 
something!” she said to herself as a sort of rallying cry to 
her own nerves. Such gathering of one’s courage is not 
uncommon; it is, in unusual circumstances, to many men 
and to most women. It does not as a rule apply to profes- 
sional or accustomed duties. To the soldier, the lawyer, 
the engineer, the man of commerce, each as such, the facul- 
ties which wait on the intelligence are already braced by 
habit. And to the woman in her hours of social self-con- 
sciousness the same applies. When a woman puts on her 
best frock she is armed and ready as completely as is the 
cavalry man with the thunder of the squadron behind him ; as 
the artillery man when “ Action ! ” has been sounded. Ordi- 


LADY ATHLYNE 


78 

narily Miss Judith was equal to all demands made on her ; 
now she was engaging in a matter in which she did not 
thoroughly understand either the purpose or the end. Now 
she spoke: 

“Have you been staying long in New York Mr. Hardy?’' 
At the moment Athlyne was talking with his hostess and 
did not seem to hear ; but Joy heard and said gently : “ Mr. 
Hardy!” He turned suddenly red, even to his ears. 

“I beg your pardon, I didn’t ...” There he stopped, 
suddenly realizing that he had almost betrayed himself. 
The fact was that he heard the question but forgot for an 
instant the part he was playing. His ears had been tuned 
to the music of Joy’s voice, and he did not wake at once 
to the less welcome sound. Partly it was of course due 
to the fact that as yet he had heard but little of Aunt 
Judy’s speech; her intentional silence had a drawback as 
well as an advantage. He stopped his explanation just in 
time to save suspicion from the rest of the family, but not 
from Judy, who having an intention of her own was alert 
to everything. She made a mental note to be afterwards 
excogitated: “I didn’t” — what?” 

She repeated the question. He answered with what non- 
chalance he could: 

“No. Only a few days.” 

“Do you remain long?” 

“I am sorry to say that I cannot. I had promised myself 
a few weeks after grizzlies ; but that has to be foregone for 
the present. Something has happened which requires my 
going back at once. But I hope to renew my visit before 
long.” He was pleased with himself for the verbal ac- 
curacy of the statement, and this reassured him. 

“What a pity you have to give up your hunting,” said 
Colonel Ogilvie, heartily. “You would find it really ex- 
cellent sport. I haven’t had any of it for twenty years; 
but I’d dearly like to have another turn at it if I could.” 

“What boat do you go by?” asked Mrs. Ogilvie. 


TRUE HEART’S-CONTENT 


79 

the French boat. The Mignonette which sails on 
Saturday.” He answered with confidence for he had spent 
a quarter of an hour looking it up before he had dressed ; 
and had already posted a letter to the Office asking to have 
the best cabin open kept for him. 

“ What a pity,” said Joy. “We are going on the Graphic 
on the Wednesday after; you might have come with us.” 
She coloured up as she became conscious of the dead silence 
— lasting for a few seconds — of the rest of the party. 

“ H’m ! ” said the Colonel. 

“Perhaps dear, Mr. Hardy has reasons of his own for 
choosing his own route,” said Mrs. Ogilvie, determined 
that her daughter should not appear to be too ardent in 
pressing the new acquaintanceship. 

Athlyne hastened to set matters right, as well as he 
could. He knew from his own bringing up that such a re- 
quest should come rather from the parents than from the 
girl herself; but he understood and tried to protect her. 
He addressed himself therefore to Mrs. Ogilvie and not 
her daughter as he spoke: 

“ It would I assure you, be a delight to me to go on 
your ship. But unhappily it would not be possible. Some 
business matters, not altogether my own, are dependent 
on my arriving in England. If I had only known that 
you were going — Indeed I may say,” he added with a 
smile which all three women accepted as “ winning ” “ that 
if I had known, to begin with, that such delightful people 
existed. . . . But until that . . . that accident I 
had no such knowledge. I must not say that ‘ happy ’ 
accident for it was fraught with such danger to one whom 
you hold dear. But, that apart, it was a happy accident to 
me that has given me the opportunity of making friends 
whom I already value so highly ! ” This was for him quite 
a long speech; he breathed more freely when it was over. 

When the ladies had gone, he and his host had a long 
chat over their cigars. He was now more at ease, and as 


8o 


LADY ATHLYNE 


the conversation was all about sport and horses, matters in 
which he was thoroughly at home, he could speak more 
freely and more naturally than he had yet done. There 
was not any personal element which would require him to 
be on guard and so cause constraint. The result was that 
Colonel Ogilvie got quite over his stiffness and began to 
warm to his genial influence. 

It was quite a sign of his existing attitude that he now 
took on himself to say just what he had reprehended in his 
daughter : 

“ I am really sorry you can’t come qn the Graphic with 
us. It would make the voyage a new pleasure for us all ! ” 
As he spoke he took the young man’s arm in a most friendly 
way; and to Joy’s secret delight, they came in this wise 
into the drawing-room. 


CHAPTER VII 


A DISCUSSION 

On reflection Lord Athlyne was glad that circumstances 
had not allowed him to travel on the Graphic with his new 
friends. At first he felt horribly dissappointed ; as if Fate 
had in a measure checkmated him. Had he known that 
the Ogilvies were to travel on the White Star boat he could 
have easily arranged his plans. The voyage would in some 
ways — one way — have been delightful. Well he knew that ; 
but as he should have to keep up his alias he would have 
been in a perpetual state of anxiety and humiliation. 

This feeling made it easier for him therefore to come 
to a definite conclusion regarding his journey home: he 
would keep to himself, as far as possible, during the journey 
and try to get at the earliest possible moment out of his 
present humiliating position. Under any ordinary circum- 
stances he would have gone to Colonel Ogilvie and told him 
frankly of the state of matters, relying on his good feeling 
to understand and sympathise with his difficulty. Had there 
been opportunity for reflection he would have done so; 
but all was so hurried at the scene of the accident that there 
had not been time for thought. He had accepted of neces- 
sity the invitation to dinner. Then, or before going to the 
Holland House would have been his chance. But again 
the Colonel meeting him and taking him at once to his family 
made present explanation difficult. Dinner finished him. 
When first on the Drive he had seen Joy he had thought her 
a beautiful girl. The act of rescuing her had made her of 
the supremest interest to him. But it was not till he had 
sat beside her and looked into her eyes that he felt that 
love had come. No man could look into those beautiful 

8i 


82 


LADY ATHLYNE 


eyes and remain untouched. But this man, heart-hungry 
and naturally susceptible after some years of campaigning, 
fell madly in love. His very soul had gone down into the 
depths of those unfathomable eyes, and come back purified 
and sweetened — like the smoke drawn through the rose- 
water of a hookah. Every instant that he sat beside her 
the spell grew upon him. Joy was a woman in whom the 
sex-instinct was very strong. She was woman all over; 
type of woman who seems to draw man to her as the mag- 
net draws the steel. Athlyne was a very masculine person 
and therefore peculiarly sensitive to the influence. That 
deep thinking young madman who committed suicide at 
twenty-three, Otto Weininger, was probably right in that 
wonderful guess of his as to the probable solution of the 
problem of sex. All men and all women, according to 
him, have in themselves the cells of both sexes ; and the ac- 
credited masculinity or femininity of the individual is deter- 
mined by the multiplication and development of these cells. 
Thus the ideal man is entirely or almost entirely masculine, 
and the ideal woman is entirely or almost entirely feminine. 
Each individual must have a preponderance, be it ever so 
little, of the cells of its own sex ; and the attraction of each 
individual to the other sex depends upon its place in the 
scale between the highest and the lowest grade of sex. 
The most masculine man draws the most feminine woman, 
and vice versa; and so down the scale till close to the border 
line is the great mass of persons who, having only develop- 
ment of a few of the qualities of sex, are easily satisfied 
to mate with any one. This is the true principle of selection 
which is one of the most important of Nature’s laws; one 
which holds in the lower as well as in the higher orders of 
life, zoological and botanical as well as human. It accounts 
for the way in which such a vast number of persons are 
content to make marriages and even liaisons, which others, 
higher strung, are actually unable to understand. 

As yet, of course, Joy being a young woman had not her 


A DISCUSSION 


B3 

power developed. Such an unconscious power takes in the 
course of its development its own time. Instinct is a direct- 
ing principle, and obedience can be given to it in many 
different ways. With Joy its course had been slow, the 
growth of time alone. Up to now there had been no dis- 
turbing element in her life ; most of her years had been spent 
in a quiet house in a quiet neighbourhood where there 
were but few inhabitants of her own class; and where, 
therefore, the percentage of eligible men was small. There 
was even to her, as there must be to any girl like her, cer- 
tain protecting oppositions. She was at once practical and 
sentimental, sensuous and dainty. Her taste was her first 
line of defence to the attacks of the baser qualities of her 
own nature. Nothing could appeal to her thoroughly which 
did not answer widely divergent conditions. Aunt Judy 
had summed her up well in saying that she would, if she 
ever fell in love, give herself absolutely. But it must be 
the right man to whom she did so give herself; one who 
must comply with all the conditions which she had laid 
down for herself. A girl of her up-bringing — with a father 
and mother who adored her each in special way; with an 
aunt who represented impulsive youth all the more actively 
because she professed the staidness of age which is without 
hope; and with no intimate relationships or friendships of 
the male kind — had not only a leaning to, but a conviction 
of romance as a prime factor of life. “ Life ” was to her 
not that which is, but that which is to be. As the world of 
the present, where such thoughts are, is not one which is lit 
and coloured by love, the world of the future is the World 
of Love. The Fairy Prince who is to bring so much happi- 
ness — when he comes — is no mere casual visitor to feminine 
childhood. He is as real to the child’s imagination as the 
things of her waking life, though his nodding plume has 
little in common with the material things which surround 
her. As she grows older so does he change form, coming 
more into harmony with living fact; till at last in some 


LADY ATHLYNE 


84 

lofty moment, whose memory is a treasure for after life, 
the ideal and the real merge in one. 

To Joy the hour had come. The Prince Charming who 
had swept across her path in such heroic fashion was all 
that she had ever longed for. He was tall and strong and 
handsome and brave. He was a gentleman with all a 
gentleman’s refined ways. He had taste and daintiness, 
though they were expressed in masculine ways. He too 
had love and passion. How could she not know it who 
had seen — had felt — his soul sink into the deeps of her 
eyes, where mermaid-like her own soul peeping from behind 
the foliage of the deep had smiled on him to lead him on. 
How could she forget that strong arm which was thrown 
around her waist and which tore her from her saddle just 
in time to save her from a horrible death. How could she 
forget the seconds when she hung on to him for life, her 
arms clasped around his neck. 

Whilst he was beside her at dinner she was in an ecstasy. 
Every fibre of her being quivered in response to his. And 
yet, such is the influence of teaching and convention, all 
this did not detract from her outward calm. When the 
ladies had left the table she had gone out with her arm 
round Aunt Judy’s waist as was the convention of the time, 
and her smile had not lost its frank geniality. But in very 
truth she did not feel like smiling. She would have given 
anything to have stolen away to her own room and have 
lain on her bed, face down, and have thought, and thought, 
and thought. The whole thing had come on her so sud- 
denly. Even the little preparation which she had had at 
the auction — the beautiful horse and the fine-looking mas- 
terful man who had bought him — did not seem to count. 
As he had swept past her in the Drive, man and horse seen 
singly seemed superb; but together a dream. Still there 
was nothing to fix it in her mind. There needs some per- 
sonal quality to fix a dream; just as the painter requires 
a mordant to hold his colours to the canvas, But such 


A DISCUSSION 


85 

luxury of thought would have to be postponed. It would 
come, of course — later in the night when there would be 
loneliness and silence. So she had to contain herself, 
and wait. 

When “ Mr. Hardy ** came back to the drawing-room arm 
in arm with her father her heart thrilled. It seemed like 
a promise of hope if not hope itself. Aunt Judy, ever 
watchful, saw and understood. To her seeing eyes and 
understanding nature there was no mistaking the meaning 
of the girrs unconscious pantomime — those impulsive ex- 
pressions of thought made through the nerves: the eager 
half turning of the ear to catch the sound of the opening 
of the dining room door and the passing of the feet in the 
passage way ; the uplifting of the head as the drawing-room 
door began to open ; the glad look in the eyes and the quick 
intake of the breath as she saw the attitude of the two 
men, each to the other. 

As he came in Athlyne looked at her ; a look that seemed 
to lay any ghost of a doubt in her mind. She was glad 
when he went straight across the room and began to talk 
with her mother. She was content to wait till when, having 
done his social duties, he would find his way to her. Mrs. 
Ogilvie had much to say and detained him, Judy thought, 
unduly ; but Joy gave no possible sign of impatience. When 
in due course he spoke a few words to Judy herself that 
estimable young lady managed to find something to say 
to her sister. 

When the guest was at last beside her in her corner of 
the room Joy felt that all was right and becoming. No 
matter how willing a woman may be to take steps to the 
accomplishment of her own wishes, it is an added pleasure 
to her when she is the objective of man rather than his 
pursuer. Even the placid pussy-cat when her thoughts tend 
to flirtation runs — slowly — from her mate until she sees that 
he notices her going. Then she stops and sings to him — 
in her own manner of music — as he approaches. 


86 


LADY ATHLYNE 


The two young people did not use many words in their 
speech; such seemed inadequate for what they had to say. 
Suffice it that what they did say was thoroughly understood. 

Athlyne did not prolong his stay, much as he would have 
enjoyed staying. He felt that it would be better, in every 
way, if he did not enforce his first opportunity. Mrs. 
Ogilvie very graciously hoped that he would manage to 
make them a visit before sailing. Joy said nothing — in 
words. He had a little conversation with Colonel Ogilvie 
who was standing away from the rest and leaning on the 
chimney piece. 

When he had gone Joy said good-night to them all; she 
felt that at present she could not talk the little common- 
places of affectionate life; and she could not bear to hear 
him ’’ discussed. If that acute reasoner on causes and 
effects in the female mind. Aunt Judy, had been able to 
permeate her heart and brain she would at once have under- 
stood that simple way of accepting a man’s personality — 
simulacrum. What need is there to differentiate when there 
is but one. Names are given as aids to memory; and at 
times memory ceases to be an important matter. 

The next evening after dinner ‘‘ Mr. Hardy ” became the 
subject of conversation, and Joy was not comfortable. She 
knew that there must be divergent views regarding any one, 
and was content to let them all have their own opinions. 
She had hers. Indeed she would not have been wholly con- 
tent to hear him praised even up to the perfection which 
she allowed him. He was by far too personal a possession 
of her own to share even community of feeling regarding 
him with any one. 

In the night that had passed her own feeling had grown, 
multiplied; the feelings of the others had changed too, but 
in a different way. The glamour which had become for 
her intensified had for them been lost in the exactness of 
perspective. Perhaps it was that Joy’s night had been 
different from theirs. To her had come all the evils of 


A DISCUSSION 


87 

reaction. Now and again with wearing recurrency came 
the exciting memories of the day; but always with that 
kaleidoscopic inconsistency which is the condition of dream- 
ing. The brains of most people are not accustomed to 
self-analysis, else we should perhaps more widely under- 
stand that this very inconsistency is mere reproduction. 
Whilst we think we do not think that we are thinking, and 
memory does not adjust our thoughts to comparison. But, 
all the time, our thoughts are really errant; reflections 
of the night, which seem to be exaggerations or caricatures, 
are but just surveys taken from an altitude which is not 
our own. In the day time thought is too often initiated by 
carnal or material considerations. Selfishness, and need, and 
ambition, and anxiety are bases on which thought is built 
in working and waking hours. But in the dark and freedom 
of the night the mind borrows the wings of the soul and 
soars away from the body which is held down by all its 
weighty restraints. It is perhaps in such moments that we 
realise that passion, however earthly may be its exciting 
cause, is in itself an attribute or emanation of the Soul. 
Over and over again did Joy live through the mad moments 
of that ride towards death. Over and over again did that 
heroic figure sweep up beside her out of the great unknown. 
She began to understand now whence came her calmness 
and quickness of apprehension as she realised his presence — 
the presence of a man who dominated her — even whose 
horse in the easiness of its calm intention outstripped the 
wildness of her own maddened steed. Here again the ab- 
stract mind was working truly ; the horse had its own proper 
place in her memories of the heroic deed. Over and over 
again did that strong hand and arm seize her ; and over and 
over again did her body sway to him and yield itself 
to the clasp, so that at his command it went to him as 
though of its own volition. And then, over and over 
again, came the remembrance of the poor mad mare dis- 
appearing over the edge ; of the sickening crash from below 


88 


LADY ATHLYNE 


and the wild scream of agony; of the confused rush and 
whirl ; of the crowding in of people ; of the vista of moving 
carriages and crowds down the curve of the road. And 
then all kept fading away into a blind half consciousness 
of the strong arm supporting her and her wearied head 
resting on his shoulder. . . . 

This evening Mrs. Ogilvie was very quietly inclined to 
be tearful. She too had had a bad night ; constant wakings 
from vague apprehensions, horrible imaginings of unknown 
dangers ; dread that she could not localise or specify. 
Altogether she was upset, something as one is in the low 
stage following an attack of hysteria ; nervous, weak, appre- 
hensive, inclined to misunderstand things on the melan- 
choly side. 

Colonel Ogilvie was in that state of mind following a 
high pressure, which is a masculine reaction. He was very 
hard to please about anything. His wife always thought 
of this nervous and intellectual condition as ‘‘ one of 
Lucius's humours," to others she said “ the Colonel is 
worried about something." Judy called it : ‘‘ one of his 
tantrums." This however did not affect his manner, out- 
wardly. At such times he was perhaps even more precise 
than usual in his observance of the little etiquettes and 
courtesies of social life. It had perhaps been unfortunate 
that his household was exclusively female, for want of oppo- 
sition rather encouraged the tendency. In his club or 
amongst men such irritation or ill feeling as he had found 
more outward expression; and the need to keep himself so 
that standard of personal hearing which his own self esteem 
had set, perpetually recalled him to himself. But at home, 
this, though it would not have been possible for a stranger to 
find fault with any part of his manner or bearing, still kept 
the rest of the family in a sort of hushed self-surrender. 
Even Judy the daring kept her natural exuberance in control 
at such times and was content to rest in unnoticed quiet. 
Joy knew well the storm signals and effaced herself as far 


A DISCUSSION 


89 

as possible ; she loved her father too well and respected him 
too much to do or say anything which might cause him 
disquiet or tend to lower him in his own eyes. 

Judy on this as on other occasions maintained a strictly 
neutral position. But her wits were keener and her eyes 
more observant even than usual on that very account. She 
did not know the cause of her brother-in-law’s disturbance, 
but she understood it all the same. Few things there are 
which lead so directly to the elucidation of truth as a clever, 
unselfish woman on the watch. 

Silence rather than speech was the order of the day, and 
the talking, such as it was, began with Colonel Ogilvie. 
Men when they are carrying out a settled intention or policy 
can be more silent than women; their nerves are stronger 
and their nature more fixed. But in the casual matters of 
life they are children in the hands of women. Here were 
three women, all of them clever, all of them attached to the 
man and all respecting him; but they had only to remain 
neutral, each in her individual way, and let him overcome 
the vis inertia as well as he could. He could not but be 
aware that the subject of the guest of last evening had been 
tacitly avoided. He had been conscious of such in his own 
case, and with the egotism which was so marked a part of 
his own character he took it for granted that the avoidance 
was with the others due to the same cause as with himself. 
It was therefore with something like complacency — if such 
a thing could be synchronous with irritability, even if one 
of the two be in a latent condition — that he began on the 
deferred subject: 

“ I am afraid that our guest last night did not enjoy him- 
self ! ” There was silence for a few seconds. Then each 
of the three listeners, feeling that some remark must be 
made by some one, spoke suddenly and simultaneously : 

“ Why, Lucius, what do you mean ? ” 

“ You surprise me. Colonel ! ” 

“ Is that so, Daddy ! ” 


90 


LADY ATHLYNE 


He waited deliberately before saying more; he had been 
thinking over the subject and knew what he wanted to say. 
Then he spoke with an air of settled conviction: 

‘‘ Yes, my dear ! ” He gpoke to Joy alone, and thus, to 
all three, unconsciously gave away his purpose. “ I thought 
so at the time, and to-day, whenever I have considered the 
matter, the conviction has increased.” Mrs. Ogilvie, seeing 
on her daughter’s face a certain hardening of the muscles, 
took it for granted that it was some form of chagrin; in 
a protective spirit she tried to make that matter right : 

“ My dear Lucius, I really cannot see how you arrive at 
such a conclusion. It seemed to me that the young man was 
in rather an exalted condition of happiness. I could not 
help noticing the way he kept looking at Joy. And indeed 
no wonder after the gallant way he had saved her life.” 
She added the last sentence as a subtle way of reminding 
her husband that they were all under obligation to the 
young gentleman. Moreover there was in her heart as a 
mother — and all mothers are the same in this respect — that 
feeling of pride in her daughter which demands that all men 
shall be attracted by her charms. No matter how detri- 
mental a man may be, nor how determined she is that his 
suit shall not be finally successful, a mother considers it the 
duty of the young man to love her daughter and desire her. 

Joy somehow felt humiliated. It was not merely that 
she should be the centre of such a discussion — for, after , 
all, it was through rescuing her that he was there at all; ^ 
but she was hurt and disappointed that this particular man 
should be discussed in any way. She had seen no fault in ' 
him; nothing to discuss in his conduct or his bearing or / 
his words or his person. She herself had admired him 
immensely. He was somehow different from all the other 
men she had ever seen. . . . Then pride came to her 

rescue. Not pride for herself, but for him. In her heart 
he was her man, and she had to protect his honour ; and she 
would do so, if necessary. This idea at once schooled her 


A DISCUSSION 


91 

to restraint, and steeled her to endure. With an uncon- 
scious shrug she remained silent. 

But Judy’s keen eyes had been on her, and both her 
natural sympathy and the experience of her own heart 
allowed her to interpret pretty well. She saw that for Joy’s 
sake — either now or hereafter — some opposition to the 
Colonel’s idea was necessary. She had noticed the settled 
look — it had not yet become a frown — which came over 
his face when his wife spoke of his looking at Joy. In just 
such moments and on subjects as this it is that a father’s 
and a mother’s ideas join issue. Whilst the mother expects 
the singling out of the daughter for devotion, the father’s 
first impulse is to resent it. Colonel Ogilvie’s resentment 
had all his life been habitually expressed with force and 
rapidity; even in a tender matter of this kind the habit 
unconsciously worked. 

“ All the more reason, Sarah, for his being candid about 
himself. For my own part I can understand one attitude* 
or the other ; but certainly not both at once ! ” 

Joy began to get seriously alarmed. The mere use of 
her mother’s formal name was a danger-signal of rare use. 
By its light she could realise that her father had what he 
considered in his own mind to be a real cause of complaint. 
She did not like to speak herself; she feared that just at 
present it might complicate matters. So she looked over 
appealing at Judy, who understood and spoke: 

“ What two attitudes ? I’m afraid I for one, don’t under- 
stand. You are talking in riddles to-night ! ” She spoke 
in a gay debonnair manner so like her usual self that her 
brother-in-law was unsuspicious of any underlying intent 
of opposition. This was just the opportunity for which 
he was waiting. With a sardonic smile he went on, singling 
out Joy as before : 

“ Your mother, my dear, has told us one of them. Per- 
haps the young man did look at you. There’s little wonder 
in that. Were I a young man and a stranger I should look 


92 


LADY ATHLYNE 


at you myself; and I would also have looked at any other 
man who dared to look at you too. If this is a man’s atti- 
tude he should be more genial — more explicit — more open — 
less constrained to her relatives. That my dear Judy,” — he 
turned to her as he spoke “ is the other attitude.” Mrs. 
Ogilvie answered — the conversation to-night was decidedly 
oblique : 

‘‘ Really, Colonel, I can’t agree with you. For my own 
part I thought his attitude towards her relatives was all 
that was courteous and respectful. Certainly to her 
mother 1 ” She bridled, and Joy grew more serious. Her 
mother calling her husband “ Colonel ” was another danger- 
signal; and she knew that if once her father and mother 
got to loggerheads over him — “ him ” was her way of think- 
ing of Mr. Hardy — it might keep him away from her. She 
summoned up her courage and said with all the affectionate 
raillery which was usually so effective with her father : 

• “ Daddy dear do you remember .^sop’s fable about the 
Boy and the Frogs? ” 

“ I suppose I ought to, little girl ; but I’m afraid I have 
forgotten. What was it about ? ” 

“ The Boys were throwing stones at the Frogs, and when 
the Frogs remonstrated the Boys said they were doing it 
for fun. So the Frogs answered: ‘ It may be fun to you; 
but it is death to us ! ’ ” Colonel Ogilvie puckered up his 
eyebrows : 

“ I remember, now, my dear ; but for the life of me I 
don’t see its application here.” Joy said with a preternat- 
ural demureness : 

“ It means Daddy, that you are the Boy and I am the 
Frog!” Her father’s gravity became intensified: 

“ That does not help me much, daughter I ” 

“ Well, you see. Daddy, here are you and mother com- 
menting on how a man looked at me — and — so forth. But 
you don’t take into consideration the sensitiveness of a 
woman’s heart — let alone her vanity. I think you’ve for- 


A DISCUSSION 


93 

gotten that I am not now 'merely a child emerging into 
womanhood ’ — don’t you remember on the Cryptic — ^but a 
staid woman to whose waning attractions everything re- 
lating to a man is sacred. One who looks on man, her 
possible rescuer from the terrors of old maidhood with the 
desperation of accomplished years.” As she had spoken 
unthinkingly the word " rescuer ” a hot tide of blood had 
rushed to her face, but she went bravely on to the end of 
her sentence. There was not one of the three who did not 
understand the meaning. Her mother and aunt were con- 
cerned at the self-betrayal. Her father’s face grew fixed, 
now to sternness. With a faint heart Joy felt that she had 
made a terrible mistake, and inwardly condemned herself 
for its foolishness. Colonel Ogilvie now went on with 
grave deliberateness, he was determined that there should 
be no error regarding his disapprobation. All the time he 
was inwardly fuming against Mr. Hardy whom he held 
responsible : 

“As I was saying, that fellow’s attitude, as it appeared 
to me, was wanting in both openness and that confidence 
which underlies respect.” Here Joy quivered. Judy, 
watching her, noticed it and for a moment was scared. But 
the girl at once forced herself into calm, and Judy’s anxiety 
quite disappeared. She knew that Joy was now quite mas- 
ter of herself, and would remain so. The Colonel, accept- 
ing the dejected silence as a request to continue, went on: 

“ Of course there is no need for me to say that he is 
a very gallant fellow and a superb horseman, and that his 
manners are those of a polished gentleman. Nor, further 
still, that I and mine are under a deep debt of gratitude to 
him. But there are some things which a man can do, or 
what is worse which he can leave undone, that show dis- 
trust.” 

“What things, for instance?” It was Judy who asked 
the question falteringly; but it was to Joy that the answer 
was directed : 


94 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Well, my dear, I shall illustrate. When I, wishing to 
show that we all took an interest in him and his surround- 
ings, mentioned Airlville and spoke of clubs and such mat- 
ters he did not proffer me any information. Still, thinking 
that his reserve might be that usually attributed to the 
stand-off-ness of the English as often accepted here — that 
it was due to habit rather than intent — I asked him where 
he lived in London. He wrote an address on one of his 
cards — which by the way has no address graven on it — 
and handed it to me, saying : ‘ That is only a lodging. I 
have not got a house yet.' Then I asked what clubs he 
belonged to ; and he simply said * Several ’ and began to ask 
me questions about what sport we usually have in Ken- 
tucky. Now my dear, I am not usually inquisitive ; and as 
this man was my guest I could not proceed in face of such 
a — a snub.” He winced at the word. “ But as I was 
really anxious that we should see more of one who had 
rendered us so signal a service, I expressed a hope that 
when we were in England in the summer we might have the 
pleasure of seeing him. I am bound to say that he recipro- 
cated the wish very eagerly. He asked me a host of ques- 
tions as to our plans ; and I told him what we had arranged 
about the Lake Country and the Border of which we have 
such traditions in our family. He certainly has a very 
winning way with him, and I quite forgot at the time his 
want of trust about his residence and his clubs ! ” 

“ Perhaps he may have no home ; he may be a poor man,” 
suggested Aunt Judy. The Colonel answered her, this 
time directly : 

“He may not be a rich man, but he is certainly not a 
poor one. You and I ” this to Joy “ saw him pay three 
thousand for that horse. And he is free with his money 
too in other ways. That police sergeant who was with me 
this morning — and who, my dear, asked me to convey his 
gratitude to you ; I gave it for you — told me that the gentle- 
man had given him on the Viaduct a hundred dollars for 


A DISCUSSION 


95 

himself, and then another hundred for the officer who was 
run down.” 

How generous! ” said Judy. Joy said nothing; but she 
leaned forward, gladness in her eyes. There is some chord 
in a woman’s heart which sounds to any touch of generosity 
or even of liberality. It is some survival of conditions of 
primitive life, and a permanent female attribute. Judy, 
anxious to propitiate her brother-in-law, and to preserve the 
absent man’s character, said as though it were the conclu- 
sion of some process of reasoning: 

‘‘ He must be some important person who is here on 
private business.” Ogilvie smiled genially: 

" Our dear Judy will find a romance in everything — even 
in a man’s distrust ! ” Judy, somewhat nettled, felt like de- 
fending her own position. This had nothing to do with 
Joy so she felt she could argue freely about it : 

** It needn’t be a romance, Lucius, only fact ! ” 

My dear Judy, I don’t see why a man should give so 
extravagantly merely because he is on private business. 
Why, it is the very way to attract attention.” Judy was 
made more obstinate by the apparent appositeness of the 
remark and by the tolerant tone of the speaker. 

“ I don’t mean that he gives because he is on private busi- 
ness, surely you know that ; but that he may be an important 
man who gives handsomely as a habit. He may be keep- 
ing his identity concealed.” 

“ How do you mean exactly. How keep his identity con- 
cealed ? He never told me ; and he has been my guest ! ” 
Colonel Ogilvie had a puzzled look on his face. 

** Well, for instance by taking another name for the occa- 
sion. Perhaps — ” Here she caught sight of the look of 
positive horror on Joy’s face and stopped short. Joy had 
seen in what direction the conversation was drifting, but 
was afraid to interfere lest she should bring on the very 
catastrophe which she dreaded. She had never forgotten 
her father’s expressions regarding an alias; and she had 


LADY ATHLYNE 


96 

reason to fear that should his suspicions be in any way 
directed towards the new friend whose accidental acquaint- 
anceship already promised so much, some evil or hindrance 
must ensue. But her hypothetical concern was lost in a 
real one. As Judy spoke, the Colonel started to his feet, 
his manner full of suppressed fury. He was bristling all 
over, preliminary of his most dangerous mood. 

Joy rose to the occasion. It was now or never; It was 
apparent that her father had taken that form of offence 
which is generally expressed in idiom or slang. Cornish- 
men call it a “ scunner,” Cockneys “ the hump,” Irishmen 
“ an edge,” Americans “ shirty.” It is a condition ante- 
cedent to active offence ; a habitat of the germ of misunder- 
standing; a searchlight for cause of quarrel. Joy felt cold, 
into the very marrow of her bones ; well she knew that her 
father would never forgive any such offence to him as was 
implied in an assumed name. His remarks on the subject 
flamed before her like fiery handwriting on the walls of her 
memory. Moreover Judy’s incautious remark had but 
echoed her own thought. All day she had been dreaming 
of this man who had plunged so gallantly into her life. 
Naturally enough to a young woman, she had been weaving 
romances in various forms round that very identity which, 
even to her, had been unexpressed if not hidden. Naturally 
her dreams had in them some element of concealment; 
romances always have. She had in her secret heart taken 
it for granted that this man must be distinguished — how 
could he be otherwise ; and now her father’s suspicion might 
result in some breach which might result in her never seeing 
him again. ... It was a possible tragedy! To her, 
grim and real from her knowledge of her own heart; and 
none the less a real tragedy or less potent because its bounds 
were lost in the vagueness of mist and fear. . . . She 

was pale and inwardly trembling ; but, all the same, her light 
laugh rang true; she was desperate and fighting for her 
man, and so was strung up to nature’s pitch : 


A DISCUSSION 


' 97 

** Why, Daddy, if you’re going to kill anyone it will have 
to be dear Aunt Judy. She’s the one who has made the 
alias. The poor man himself — who by the way is not here 
to answer for himself and explain — hasn’t done any con- 
ceivable thing wrong that we know of — even you Daddy 
know that; except not having a house and not bragging 
of his clubs ! ” 

This seemed to strike her father; it touched him on the 
point of Justice. The lightness of his daughter’s laugh 
reassured him. 

“ True ! ” he said. “ That is quite true. I was too hasty. 
And he saved my little girl’s life ! ” He rose from the 
table and putting his arm round her shoulders kissed her. 
Then they went into the drawing-room. 

Joy bore up bravely for the rest of the evening. But 
when she was in bed and assured that she was alone, the 
reaction came. She was as cold as a stone and trembled 
all over. Putting her face down into her pillow she pulled 
the sheet over her head and wept her very heart out. 

“ Oh what it might have been if all went well. But what 
might be if Daddy took some queer idea . . , and 
quarrelled ... ! ” 


CHAPTER VIII 


“ LOOK AT ME ! ” 

When on Tuesday afternoon Mr. Hardy ” visited at 
the Holland House he found only the single ladies at home. 
Colonel Ogilvie had gone out in the morning to see after 
several matters of business, both in connection with Air and 
relating to the forthcoming visit to Eurpoe. He had said 
he would probably not be back till dinner time. Mrs. 
Ogilvie had gone out after lunch for a drive and would 
pay some visits before returning home. Joy pleaded head- 
ache as an excuse for remaining at home. Indeed her ex- 
cuse was quite real; no one can pass so melancholy a part 
of a night as she had done without suffering the next morn- 
ing. As the day wore on, however, the headache insensibly 
departed; something else had taken its place. Joy would 
not admit to herself what that something was; but that 
afternoon she took unusual pains with her toilet. Judy 
noticed it with her usual acute observation, understood it 
with her understanding sympathy; with her wonted dis- 
cretion she remained silent. She felt, and rightly, that the 
time had not yet come when she could either be serious with 
Joy or jest with her on the subject nearest to her heart. 
One thing she did which can never be out of place, es- 
pecially when it is true : she showed pleasure in her niece’s 
looks, taking care, however to put her own reason for it 
on a non-offensive basis. 

“ Joy,’’ she said “ that terrible experience of Sunday has 
not told on you a bit. You are looking simply lovely.” 
Ordinarily Joy would have known it, and would not have 
shrunk from admitting it to herself, or possibly even to 
her aunt; but to-day she was full of self doubting. Her 

98 


LOOK AT ME!^’ 


99 

very flush of happy excitement when her aunt spoke would 
have betrayed her secret to a much less sympathetic or 
experienced person than Judy. 

It is love more than any other cause or emotion or feeling 
which creates self-distrust with the young. And some- 
times with the old, for the matter of that. 

When she found that Aunt Judy did not ‘‘ chaff her or 
ask her questions, which she rather feared would happen, 
Joy beamed. Indeed it looked to Judy’s loving eyes as if 
she visibly blossomed. Judy spoke of her dress, remarking 
how well the dark full-coloured green silk became her slen- 
der figure; but she was careful not to overdo her praise, 
or to suggest any special cause for so elaborate a toilet. 

But Judy was of a distinctly practical nature. She took 
care to send a message to the hall that if any visitors should 
come, though both Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie were out, Miss 
Ogilvie and Miss Hayes were at home. 

Athlyne found both ladies busily idle. Joy was reading 
a novel ; which by the way she put down hurriedly without 
as Judy noticed, marking the place. Judy was knitting; 
that sort of heavy uninteresting knitting which is manifestly 
for the poor! She was used to say that such was the 
proper sort of occupation for an old maid. She, too, put 
down the cause of her occupation, but deliberately ; thereby 
giving time for the guest to salute her niece without the 
need of interruption. It did not matter, then, if Joy’s hand 
did remain an instant longer in his than formality demanded, 
nor if — when released — it was white in patches as when 
extra force is applied to delicate flesh. For a few minutes 
Judy joined in the conversation with her usual brilliancy. 
But to-day she was distinctly restless, sitting down and 
jumping up again ; moving out of the room quietly and com- 
ing back noisily — the proper way as she said on an after 
occasion for all old maids to move. Whenever she came 
back she would join in the conversation in a sort of butterfly 
fashion till she flitted away again. 


100 


LADY ATHLYNE 


In one of these trios when Mr. Hardy happened to re- 
mark that he would like to know what the movements of 
the Ogilvies would be, and what address they gave for 
letters when they were away, Joy answered : 

‘‘Daddy always has our letters sent to Brown Shipleys 
in Pall Mall. But we shall be moving about a good deal 
I expect. Mother has to take baths at Ischia again, and 
one of us will stay with her; but Daddy wants to go about 
a bit and see something of England. He is set on seeing 
the Border counties this summer.” 

“ Then how am I to know where you are ? ” he asked 
impulsively. With a bright smile Joy nodded over to Miss 
Hayes : 

“You had better ask Aunt Judy. She might keep you 
advised. She’s the letterwriter of the family ! ” 

When in her turn Joy had moved away on some little 
domestic duty he turned to Judy and said : 

“ Won’t you let me know the moves on the board, Miss 
Hayes. It would be very kind of you.” He looked so 
earnest over it that she felt her heart flutter. She said 
at once: 

“ Of course I shall, if you will let me have an address 
to write to.” He had evidently thought over this part of 
the matter, for he took from his pocketbook a card on which 
he had written below his printed name : care Jonathan Golds- 
worth. Solicitor. 47B Lincoln’s Inn Fields, London, W. C. 
That will always find me. I may be away or travelling ; but 
my letters are sent on every day.” 

Judy thanked him, and seeing that Joy was out of earshot 
added on her own account: 

“ It is only right that you, who did so much for my dear 
niece — and so for us all — should know at least where she is.” 

“ Thank you very, very much ! ” said Athlyne impulsively. 
He had all an Irishman’s instinctive knowledge of woman’s 
character and felt that Judy was to be trusted, that she 
was heart- wholly devoted to her niece. On her part Judy 


“LOOK AT ME!’’ 


lOI 


knew that he could be trusted to the full, especially where 
Joy was concerned. And from that moment she began to 
take an interest in the love affair ; an interest quite personal 
to herself and independent of her love for the girl. She 
felt that she was a participant in all schemes which were to 
be ; and that, she came to the conclusion, was about all the 
real romance that an old maid could share in. “ Thank 
God there’s that left at any rate ! ” was her prayer of 
gratitude. 

Athlyne felt a powerful impulse to make a coniidante of 
her. This was the first chance he had of disclosing the 
reality of things, and he was just about to begin when Joy 
returned. Once again did that self-distrust, incidental to 
his state of mind, cramp him. He fancied that it might 
be premature. Not knowing how deeply Joy cared for 
him already, he was unwilling to take any chance which 
might militate against his ultimate success. There was 
also another hampering feeling coincident with the self-dis- 
trust : he thought it might be possible that a confidence made 
to Judy might be embarrassing to her with her own folk. 
Already his devotion was deep enough and pure enough 
to prevent his doing intentionally anything which might 
cause her pain. Could Aunt Judy have looked into his 
heart, as she could and would have done had he been a 
woman, she would have been satisfied of the genuineness 
of his affection; and so she would have had no doubts at 
all as to the end of Joy’s love affair. 

Joy’s return, however, brought somehow a sense of 
restraint. She had herself originated or initiated a mechan- 
ism of correspondence and she feared that Mr. Hardy 
might notice that she had done so. In her present state of 
feeling towards the man, the very idea of such a thing was 
fraught with humiliation. It is extraordinary how much 
people take to heart the belief on the part of others of that 
they have intended. Truth, truly, is a bright weapon; even 
the flash of it has its own terrors ! 


102 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Judy did not comprehend exactly what the trouble was. 
She could see that there was restraint on both sides, and 
was wondering whether it had been possible that he had 
been speaking too impulsively — “ going too quick ” was the 
way she put it to herself — and that Joy had resented or 
feared it. Not the fact but the rapidity. Well Judy knew 
that in her youth a woman most holds back when the 
wildest desire of her heart is to rush forward; that the in- 
stinct of woman being to draw man on, she will spend the 
last ounce of her strength in pushing him back. Judy 
had once said : 

“ A woman wants a man to be master, and specially to 
be her master. She wants to feel that when it comes to a 
struggle she hasn’t got a chance with him, either to fight 
or to run away. That’s why we like to make a man follow 
when in truth we are dying to run after him — and to catch 
him up ! ” Some of her circle to whom the heterodox say- 
ing had been repeated professed to be very indignant as 
well as horrified. This was chiefly noticeable in such of 
the most elderly of the good ladies as had a lurid past or 
a large family, or both. 

If, however, Judy had any doubts as to the cause she 
had none whatever of the fact. There was no mistaking 
the droop of Joy’s eyes, or the sudden lifting and quick 
dropping of the lids which makes the densest man’s heart 
flutter; no mistaking his eager look; the glowing eyes 
ranging over face and form when the windows of her soul 
were closed, and entranced in their light when they were 
open. Judy herself knew the power of those gray, deep 
eyes. Even when her niece had been a baby there seemed 
something hypnotic about them. They could disarm anger, 
or change the iron of theory into the water of fact. Often 
and often after some such episode when she had thought 
the matter over she had said to herself : 

“ Lord ! if she’s like that as a baby with me, what will 
she be with a man when she’s a woman! ” Judy who was 


“LOOK AT ME!’’ 


103 

a self-observer knew instinctively that in Joy was an in- 
herent influence over men. There was some very subtle, 
delicate force which seemed to emanate from her; some 
force at once compelling and tranquillizing, for the explana- 
tion of which mere will-power was insufficient. The power 
was now in active exercise; but it was turned inwards. 
Joy was in love! Judy knew it as well as if she had her- 
self acknowledged it; indeed better, for the acknowledg- 
ment of such a secret, except to the man himself, is given 
with reserve. And so she made up her mind to further the 
affair; but to prevent Joy betraying herself unduly during 
such furtherance. By “ unduly ” Judy really meant “ un- 
wisely ” as to ultimate and most complete efficacy. 

She had an idea that Joy herself would approve, at 
present, of such discretion. It seemed a direct confirma- 
tion of such idea when presently the girl said to her in a 
faint whisper : 

“ Don’t go away again Aunt Judy! ” 

When, however, in the course of conversation as the three 
■sat chatting together happily, Mr. Hardy mentioned that 
his ship sailed in the early morning and she saw the colour 
leave the girl’s cheeks for a moment, just as a white squall 
sweeps a sunlit sea, Judy’s heart softened. She under- 
stood that retreating wave of colour. Nature has its own 
analogies to its own anomalies; there is a white black- 
bird, why not a white blush ! So when the time drew near 
for the departure of the visitor Judy slipped away for a 
minute. When she had gone the two sat still. Athlyne’s 
eyes were on Joy, eager, burning. Her eyes were down, 
the black lashes curling against her cheeks. In a voice 
rather husky he said in a low tone: 

“ Won’t you think of me sometimes till we meet again ? ” 
Her answer was given in what she wished to be a matter- 
of-fact tone, but the slight quaver in it told another 
story : 

“ Of course I shall! How can I help it? You saved my 


104 


LADY ATHLYNE 


life ! There was an entrancing demureness in the down- 
cast eyes. But it was not enough for the man. He wanted 
to see the eyes, to gaze in them, to lose himself in them once 
again. There is for each individual nature some distinc- 
tive way of expressing itself. Sometimes it is the mouth 
which tells the story; sometimes it is by simple existence 
such as the lines of the nose or forehead, by the shape and 
movement of the hands ; sometimes by a characteristic habit. 
Joy’s nature spoke through the eyes; perhaps it is, that 
intention is best given by the eyes. Anyhow the lover 
wanted to see them. 

In a low voice — not a whisper — that thrilled with inten- 
sity he said: 

“ Joy, look at me !” He spoke her name, though it was 
for the first time, quite unconsciously. As she heard it 
Joy’s heart beat so that she feared he would notice it, and 
all the self-protective instincts of womanhood rose at the 
thought. For an instant her face glowed; then it grew 
pale again. She did not hesitate, however. She raised 
her eyes and looked him full in the face. Her cheeks were 
flaming now, but she did not heed it. In the face of nature 
what, after all, is convention. As Athlyne lost himself in 
those wonderful eyes he had a wild almost over-mastering 
desire to take her in his arms and kiss her straight on the 
beautiful mouth. He was bending towards her for the pur- 
pose, she was swaying towards him, he believed; but for 
long afterwards he could not be sure of the matter. 

But suddenly he saw a change in the girl’s face, a look 
of something like terror which seemed in an instant to turn 
her to stone. It was but a momentary change, however. 
The spasm passed, and, just as though it was to his eyes 
as if he had waked from a dream, she was her easeful 
self again. At the same moment the outer door of the 
piece opened and Mrs. Ogilvie’s voice was heard as she 
entered : 

“ Judy, I am so glad! I am told he has not gone yet. I 


‘‘LOOK AT ME!^^ 


105 


should have been so sorry if I had not seen him!” When 
she entered the room, three seconds later, she found the 
two young people talking quietly according to the demure 
common-place of convention. 

Mrs. Ogilvie was very hearty in her manner ; a little more 
hearty than usual, for she had a sort of feeling as if some- 
thing extra in the way of civility was due to him after the 
way her husband had spoken of him. This was illustra- 
tive of two things. First the woman’s unconscious ac- 
ceptance of an unfavourable criticism of an absent person, 
as if it had been made to and not merely of him; second 
the way the sternness of a man’s judgment is viewed by the 
females of his family. She insisted that Mr. Hardy should 
stay for tea and asked Joy to ring and order it. 

Joy had been at once relieved and disappointed by the 
sudden entry of her mother. The maidenhood in her was 
glad of the postponement of the necessity for her surrender ; 
the womanhood in her was disappointed by it. She was both 
maid and woman ; let the female reader say, and the male 
reader guess, which feeling most predominated. She was 
glad that he was staying a little longer ; for so she might at 
least feast her eyes on him again; but it was at best a 
chastened gladness, for well she knew that that thrilling 
moment would not come again — during that interview. 
And he was going away next morning! 

Athlyne, too, was ill at ease. He, too, knew there would 
be no more opportunity now to follow up his declaration. 
The chagrin of his disappointment almost made him cross, 
such being the nature of man. Here, however, both his 
breeding and the kindliness of his nature stood to him; the 
shadow quickly passed. Later on in the evening, when he 
was thinking the matter over, he came to the conclusion 
that the interposition, though he did not attribute it to 
any divine origin, was after all perhaps best. It could not, 
or might not, suit him to declare himself so quickly. He 
felt that under the circumstances of his false name it would 


io6 


LADY ATHLYNE 


be necessary, or at any rate wise, to take Colonel Ogilvie 
into his confidence before declaring himself to his daughter. 

It is thus that we poor mortals deceive ourselves. He 
had been just about to declare himself in the most pas- 
sionate and overt way a man can; by taking the girl in 
his arms and kissing her, without even a passing thought 
of her father. But now, from some other cause, quite out- 
side the girl and not even within her knowledge, he found 
his duty. One might with this knowledge easily differ- 
entiate the values of necessary ” and ‘‘ wise in his mind 
regarding his confession to her father. 

Joy found a very distinct, though shy, pleasure in hand- 
ing him tea and cake. Judy as usual presided at the 
tea-table. She did not interfere unduly with her niece’s 
ministrations, but she took care that she had plenty of op- 
portunities. “ Joy dear won’t you see if Mr. Hardy will 
take more tea ? ” — “ has Mr. Hardy enough sugar ? ” and 
so forth. She had noticed those sudden liftings of the 
girl’s eyes, and knew what they meant to a woman — and 
to a man. Athlyne did not as a rule make tea a “ square ” 
meal, but this time he got in that direction. He refused 
nothing she offered. He would have accepted death at her 
hands now, if it would have pleased her; and it was only 
the girl’s discretion which saved the situation. 

In due time he made his adieux and took his leave. With 
Joy there was no more than a handshake. It was perhaps 
part of a second longer than customary, but the force with 
which the squeeze was given lingered long in her memory. 
Perhaps it was the pain inflicted in the operation which 
made her often during the evening, when she was alone, 
caress the possibly wounded hand! That night she went 
to sleep with her right hand pressed to her heart. 

Judy had a wild impulse to tell Joy to go to the door 
with the departing guest, but in the presence of her mother 
she did not dare to suggest it. Had she been alone she 
would probably have done so. 


^‘LOOK AT ME!” 


107 

Athlyne walked away with his mind in a whirl. In his 
heart was ever surging up through all other thoughts that 
one sublime recognition which comes to every man at least 
once in his life : that which Sir Geraint voiced : 

Here, by God’s rood is the one maid for me ! ” To 
this all other thoughts gave way. It obsessed him. When 
he came to Forty Second Street he did not turn towards 
the hotel but kept straight on up Fifth Avenue till he 
reached Central Park. He felt the need of movement. He 
wanted to be alone in the open. At Central Park his 
steps took him seemingly of their own accord towards the 
Riverside Drive. When he came to a place amongst trees 
seeming to hang over the river he sat on a seat and gave 
way to his thoughts. There was no one near him. Below 
him was the quiet river with its passing life; beyond, the 
Jersey shore so distant that details of life were not apparent. 
He took off his hat, more in reverence than for ease, as he 
thought of the beautiful girl who had so strangely come 
into life. Over and over again he said to himself in end- 
less repetition: 

“Joy! Joy! Joy! Joy!” He sat till the light began to 
fail and for long after the sudden darkness of the Ameri- 
can night had swooped down. Then he went home. 

In the hotel he found a visitor waiting for him. Mr. 
Breckenridge had come to say good-bye. He did so with 
so much heartiness that Athlyne could not bear to be aught 
but hearty himself. Though he longed to be alone he in- 
sisted on the young fellow coming up to his own rooms. 

The boy was not quite at ease so Athlyne said to 
him : 

“ There is something on your mind. What is it ? ” 

“ Well, look here, sir, ” he answered gravely. ‘‘ You 
have treated me like a comrade, and I want to treat you 
like one ! ” 

“Go on, old chap. I’m listening.” Not without some 
nervousness the other proceeded: 


io8 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“ I saw in the Journal last evening that you had dined on 
Sunday evening in the Holland with Colonel Ogilvie.” 

“ Those damned reporters ! ” interrupted Athlyne, but at 
once told him with a wave of his hand to proceed: 

“That hung in my mind from something you said to me 
the other evening. That confidence which I shall always 
value.” Athlyne nodded. He went on: 

“ I know something of that family. I’m from Kentucky 
myself ; and I was there for a while — that time of the nig- 
ger disturbance you know — and I was quartered not far 
from Airlville. I have met Colonel Ogilvie; but it was on 
duty and amongst a good many others so he would not re- 
member me. I never met any of his family; but I need 
not tell you that I fell in love with Miss Ogilvie. No fellow 
could help that; one glimpse of her is enough How- 
ever I heard a lot down there about the old man, and 

as I was keen about the girl I took it all in and remembered 
it. I want to tell you this, because he is a very peculiar 
man. He is a splendid old chap. As brave as a lion, and 
as masterful as Teddy Roosevelt himself. But all the same 
he has his ideas which are hardly up to date. He is as 
stern as Fate in matters of — of — well, social matters. They 
told me a story of him which when I recalled it has troubled 
me since I saw you. It was about a man whose identity he 
mistook and who for a jest allowed the error to go, and 
kept it up. He was a Northern of course, for a Southern 
would have understood, and our boys are sometimes very 
keen on a joke. But it was no joke when the old man 
tumbled to it. He called it an unforgivable outrage and in- 
sisted on fighting over it. I tell you it nearly cost the joker 
his life. He was drilled right through, and only escaped 
death by a miracle. I tell you all this, sir, because of your 
confidence in me. If I might make a suggestion — ^you 
won’t think it beastly presumptuous of me will you ? ” Ath- 
lyne held out his hand ; the other after shaking it, went on : 
“ I would venture to suggest that — of course if you have 


“LOOK AT ME!” 


109 

not done so already — ^you should take him into your con- 
fidence before leaving here. It might be awkward if the 
old man were to find out for himself. He would think it 
a want of trust, and he might never forgive it. I am sure 
you would like to meet him and his again — you know you 

can’t save the life of a girl like that every day ” He 

stopped there, confused and blushing. 

Athlyne was touched by the young man’s kindly frank- 
ness and sincerity. He thanked him heartily but in a re- 
gretful way added: 

“ Unfortunately I didn’t tell him. It was all so quick, and 
there was no opportunity when we did meet; and now I 
may not have the chance for some time. It would not do 
to write ; I must see him and explain. And I go away early 
to-morrow. But be sure of this : the very first chance I get 
I shall tell him. I do wish for the friendship of him and 
his ; and I should be main sorry if any foolishness hindered 
it. I shall have to do it carefully, I can see from what you 
tell me that he may construe my accepting his hospitality 
in my assumed name as an offence.” He went to the door 
with his friend, but before parting he said: 

“ By the way I should like you to do something for me 
if you don’t mind. I have asked the Horse Exchange 
people to get me another mount of the same strain as my 
black, a mare this time. I have given them full instructions, 
and if you will, I shall tell them that they must have your 
approval. I want some one who knows a good horse; and 
as I have given them carte blanche as to price it is right I 
should have some one to refer to. They are to send it to 
England for me.” 

When Breckenridge was gone he set about his prepara- 
tions for his early start. Strange to say he never thought 
of dinner at all that day; the omission may have been due 
to his hearty tea! As he worked he thought gravely over 
what his young friend had told him. He could see good 
cause for concern. Colonel Ogilvie’s attitude towards mis- 


no 


LADY ATHLYNE 


representation only echoed his own feeling. He came to 
the conclusion that there lay before him much thought; 
and possibly much action. 

But all the same this branch of the subject did not 
monopolise his thoughts that night. As he lay awake he 
kept repeating to himself again, and again, and again: 

“ Joy ! Joy ! Joy ! Joy ! ” He fell asleep with the words 
on his lips. The thought continued in his heart. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 

Athlyne did not feel safe till the French vessel was dip- 
ping her nose into the open Atlantic seas, and the Long 
Island Hills were a faint blue line on the western horizon. 
The last dozen hours of his stay in New York had been 
as though spent in prison. He knew well now that he 
really loved Joy; that this was no passing fancy, no mere 
desire of possession of a pretty woman. All phases of 
the passion of love, from the solely physical to the purely 
spiritual, have their own forces commanding different sets 
of nerves. Any one of these many phases may be all- 
compelling — for a time. But it is rather the blind dogged 
reckless pursuit of an immediate purpose than the total 
abandonment to a settled conviction. All the passions — 
or rather the phases of one passion — are separate and co- 
ordinate. Inasmuch as they are centred in one physical 
identity they are correlated. Nature has its own mysteries ; 
and the inter-relations of various functions of a human 
being form not the least of them. As there are broad 
divisions of them — Christians accept three, the ancient 
Egyptians held to eight — so must we accept their uses and 
consequences. ‘‘Body and soul,’’ so runs the saying of 
the illiterate, not seldom used in objurgation. “ Body, mind 
and soul ” says the quasi-thinker who believes that he has 
grasped the truth of the great parcelling-out of qualities. 
“ Heart, soul and flesh ” says the lover who knows that 
he understands. The lover alone it is who knows as dis- 
tinguished from believing. For his world is complete; in 
it there is no striving after knowledge, no vain desire of 
many things, no self-seeking. For the true lover’s one idea 
is to give. In such a world there can be no doubting, no 

III 


II2 


LADY ATHLYNE 


fearing, no hoping. Before its creation Pandora’s box has 
been emptied to the last. It may be that the lover’s world 
is only a phantasm, a condition. It may be that it is a 
reality which can only be grasped by those who have been 
gifted with special powers. It may be that it is an orb 
as real as our own world, whirling in space in darkness, 
and can only be seen by those who have a new sense of 
vision. Surely it is not too much to believe, following 
the great analogies, that the soul as well as the body has 
eyes, and that all eyes of all sorts and degrees have vision 
of one kind or another; that there may be even a power 
of choice. We know that in the great manifestation which 
we call Light are various rays, each with its own dis- 
tinctive powers and limitations. When these are all class- 
ified and understood, then science may take breathing time 
for its next great effort at investigation. Why, then, may 
not certain visual organs be adapted to specific purposes! 
We know through our sensoria that there is response in 
various ways to seekings of our own; whatever be the 
means of communication ; whatever it be — electrical or 
magnetic, or through some other of the occult root forces, 
the message is conveyed. Why may it not be, again fol- 
lowing the great analogies, that two forces of varying kind 
coming together are necessary for creation of any kind. 
We know it of lightning, we know it of protoplasm, and 
of whatever lies between them of which we know anything. 
We find or have ground for believing that the same condi- 
tions hold in all the worlds which germinate and increase 
and multiply. May it then not be that in love — “ creation’s 
final law ” — the meeting of the two forces of sex may 
create a new light; a light strange to either sex alone; a 
light in which that other world, spinning in the darkness 
through ether, swims into view in that new-created light. 

In physical life when flesh touches flesh the whole body 
respwDnds, provided that the two are opposite yet sympa- 
thetic. When ideas are exchanged, mind come forth to 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 


113 

mind till each understands with a common force. When 
soul meets soul some finer means of expression comes into 
play. Something so fine and of condition so rare that 
other senses can neither realise nor conceive. 

But in the lover all the voices speak, and speak simul- 
taneously ; the soul and the mind and the body all call, each 
to its new-found mate. What we call “ heart ” gives the 
note for that wonderful song of love; that song of songs 
whose music is as necessary in a living world as light or 
air, and which is more potent in the end than the forces 
of winds or seas. 

To Athlyne this new world had dawned. In the light 
which made it visible to him other things looked small; 
some of them base. And this, though the consciousness 
of love was still wanting; it had only spoken instinctively. 
The completeness only comes with that assurance of reci- 
procity which need not be spoken in words. Athlyne had 
been very close to it. The yearning of his own nature 
had spoken in that call out of the depths of his heart: 
“Joy look at me!” And if there had been time for the 
girl’s new-wakened love to surge up through the deep 
waters of her virgin timidity his happiness might have 
been by now complete. As yet he only believed that there 
might yet be happiness for him; he did not know I Had 
he seen in Joy’s beautiful eyes the answering look which 
he hoped for, he would have been justified in a change of 
his plans. He would then have spoken to her father at 
the earliest possible opportunity, have told him the entire 
story of his visit to America under an assumed name, and 
trusted to his good feeling to understand and absolve him. 
As it was he had to accept existing circumstances; and so 
he prepared himself for the future. First he would get 
rid of his alias; then he would try to see Joy again and 
form some idea of his fate. After that he would make 
his confession to Colonel Ogilvie ; and if the latter still 
remained friendly he would press his suit. 


LADY ATHLYNE 


114 

If some impartial reasoner, like Judy for instance, had 
been summing up the matter for him the same would have 
said : “ What are you troubling yourself about. You are as 
good as he is, you are a suitable match for the girl in 
every way. You have a title, a large estate, a fine social 
position personally. You have a more than good record 
as a soldier. You are young, handsome, strong, popular. 
You saved the girl’s life at the risk of your own. Then 
why, in the name of common sense, are you worrying? 
The old man is not an ass ; he will understand at once that 
you had a good reason for assuming another name. He 
will see that the circumstances of your meeting were such 
that you had no time to undeceive him. He owes you 
already the deepest debt of gratitude that a father can 
owe. The girl owes you also her life. What in the world 
better chance do you want? You love the girl your- 
self . . .” 

Aye ! there it was. He loved the girl ! That hampered 
him. 

During the whole time of the voyage he kept to himself. 
He made no new friends, not even acquaintances; he had 
begun to feel that so long as he remained under the shadow 
of that accursed alias each momentarily pleasant episode 
of his life was only the beginning of a new series of social 
embarrassments. When the ship arrived at Havre he got 
off and went at once to London. There he stayed for a 
few days in the lodgings which he had taken in the name of 
Hardy. He set himself gravely to work to wipe out from 
his belongings every trace of the false name. It was care- 
fully cut or scraped from the new luggage, obliterated from 
the new linen and underclothes by the simple process of 
scissors. The cards and stationery were burned. It was 
with a sigh of relief that, having discharged all his obliga- 
tions, he drove to his chambers in the Albany and resumed 
his own name and his old life. He was, however, some- 
what restless. He tried to satisfy himself with long rides, 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 


115 

but even the speed of the Kentucky horse who got more 
than his share of work did not satisfy him. There was 
some new uneasiness in his life; an overwhelming want 
which nothing of the old routine, no matter how pleasant 
it might be, could fill. 

When “ Mr. Hardy ” had said good bye to her, Joy's new 
life began. New life indeed, for Love is a new birth, a 
re-creation. Whenever she thought of herself she seemed 
to be leading a double life. All the routine, the cares and 
the duties of the old life remained unchanged; but super- 
imposed on it was quite a new existence, one of self- 
surrender, of infinite yearning, of infinite hope, of endless 
doubting as to whether she was worthy of all that which 
she shyly believed really existed. She was all sweetness 
to those around her, to whom she seemed happy — ^but with 
a tinge of sadness. Both her father and mother believed 
that she was feeling the reaction from the shock of the 
Riverside adventure. Her mother possibly had at first an 
idea that she had given some thought to the handsome young 
man who had saved her; but when she herself reviewed 
in her mind how quietly, not to say unconcernedly, the 
young man had taken the whole episode she was content 
to let it take a minor place in both her concern and her 
recollection. 

In due course the Ogilvie family set out on their European 
journey, and in due course without any occurrence of note 
they arrived at their destination. 

Hotel Bellevue^ 

Casamicciola, Ischia. 

Dear Mr. Hardy: 

As I promised to write to you I now try to keep my word. 
I dare say you will think that an old maid is glad to 
get a chance of writing to a man ! Perhaps she is ! But I 
may say a word in your ear : the habit of personal reticence 


ii6 LADY ATHLYNE 

begins younger and lingers longer than you would think. 
However this is not the time or place — or weather for 
philosophising. The scenery is far too lovely to think of 
anything unpleasant. We got here all right after a voyage 
which was nice enough, though rather dull, and with no 
opportunities of making new friends. We can’t have run- 
away horses on shipboard ! My sister will remain here for 
some weeks and I shall stay with her as it wouldn’t do to 
leave her all alone. It brought the whole caboodle of us 
hurrying over from America through a blizzard the last 
time! No, thank you! And Colonel Ogilvie doesn’t care 
to travel by himself. He is -set on going up to Westmore- 
land which he says is the original Country of his branch 
of the Ogilvies. He is complaining of getting no riding 
here ; and yet he says that when he gets to London he will 
hire a motor. Men are queer things, aren’t they? The 
rest of us are quite well and looking forward to our 
English visit where we may meet some friends. How are 
you? I suppose spending your time as usual galloping 
about like a knight-errant on a big black horse rescuing 
distressed ladies. And writing letters to a pack of women 
not all old maids! I suppose you will spare a moment to 
write to one in answer to this, just to say where you are 
and where you will be in the next few weeks. My brother’s 
section of our party leaves here next week. As I am an 
old maid I am shy of telling my sister, and most of the 
rest of us, that I am writing to a gentleman; but if they 
knew it they too would send their love. For my own part 
I must confine myself to kind remembrance. 

Believe me, 

Yours faithfully, 

Judith Hayes. 

P. S. — By the way, I forgot to say that the first con- 
tingent will after a few days in London go on to Cumber- 
land or Westmoreland — I know it is the ‘‘ Lake ” country ! 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 


117 

Athlyne read the letter eagerly ; but when he had finished 
he dropped it impatiently. There was not a thing in it that 
he wanted to know — not once the name he wanted to see. 
He sat for a while thinking ; then he took it up again saying 
to himself : 

She's no fool ; it must have taken her some pains to 
say so little." As he read it the second time, more care- 
fully this time and not merely looking for what he wished 
to find, the letter told its own story, and in its own way. 
Then he smiled heartily as he sat thinking it over and com- 
menting to himself : 

“Not a word about her; not even her name! And yet 
she must know that it would be of some interest to me 
to hear of her. I wonder if it would do to run over to 
Ischia. There seems to be a party of them . . ." He 

read over the letter again with a puzzled look, which all 
at once changed to a smile “ Good old Judy ! So that's 
it is it! That's not the first letter Miss Judy has written 
with a double meaning in it. She hasn't those fine eyes 
and that quick wit for nothing. Why it's as clever and 
as secret as that sent to Basing at Pretoria." For a good 
while he pondered over it, making notes on the back of the 
envelope. Then he read these over: 

“We are at Ischia. 

“ I am writing because I promised. 

“ The habit of personal reticence (that means not saying 
a thing for yourself) is for both young and old. 

“ Our voyage was dull, no adventure, no meeting any 
one like you. 

“ Mrs. Ogilvie and Judy remain at Ischia some weeks. 

“ Colonel Ogilvie doesn't like going alone and goes to 
the Lake County (who is to be with him but Joy?) 

“ He wants to go motoring (seems more in this — think 
it over). 

The rest of as — (that can only mean Joy) are looking 


ii8 


LADY ATHLYNE 


forward to meeting friends in England — (that proves she 
is going with her father). 

“ Let me know where you will be during the coming 
weeks. 

“ My brother’s section of our party — (He and Joy) — 
leave here next week. 

“ I haven’t told Mrs. Ogilvie or most of the rest of us 
(Besides Mrs. O. there are only two so that most of them 
must mean the bigger — that is Colonel Ogilvie — she has not 
told that one of the two— then she has told the other. And 
the other is Joy!) 

“ If any of those kept in ignorance knew they too would 
send their love! 

*‘^Too!' Then one does. Judy sends her own ‘kind 
remembrance.’ The only other one, Joy, sends her love — 
to me. 

“ Joy sends her love to me ! ” 

He sat for a moment in an ecstasy, holding the letter 
loosely in his hand. Then he raised it to his lips and kissed 
it. Then he kissed it a second time, a lighter kiss, 
murmuring : 

“ That’s for Aunt Judy ! ” He proceeded with his 
comment : 

“ The postscript : ‘ After a few days in London — will 
go on to Cumberland or Westmoreland.’ No address in 
either place, what does that mean? She has been so clever 
over the rest that she can’t be dull in this. She must know 
the London address . . . she thinks it best not to tell 

it to me — why ? ” 

That puzzled him. He could not make out any reason 
from her point of view. He was willing to accept the 
fact and obey directions, but Judy had been so subtle in 
the other matter that he felt she must have some shrewd 
design in this. But the simple fact was that in this matter 
she had no design whatever. She intended to write to him 
again on hearing from him and to give him all details. 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 


119 

But for his own part Athlyne had several reasons for 
not seeing Colonel Ogilvie in London. Knowing that the 
father might make some quarrel out of his coming to his 
home in a false name he wanted to make sure of the daugh- 
ter’s affection before explaining it to him. Besides there 
was the matter of continuing the fraud — even to Judy. 
Until things had been explained, meeting and any form 
of familiarity or even of hospitality, on either side was 
dangerous. He could neither declare himself nor continue 
as they knew him. He was known in London to too many 
people to avoid possible contretemps, even if he decided to 
continue the alias with them and take chance, until he 
could seize a favourable opportunity. And as he could not 
introduce the old gentleman to his friends and his clubs 
it would be wiser not to see him at all. When all was said 
and done the pain of patient waiting might be the least of 
many ills. 

All the morning and afternoon he thought over the 
letter which he was to write to Judy. He despaired of 
writing anything which could mean so much; and beyond 
that again he felt that he could say nothing which would 
be so important to its recipient as the message of Judy’s 
letter had been to him. How could he hope for such a 
thing! The letter, which just before the time of collection 
he posted with much trepidation, ran : 

“ My Dear Miss Hayes : 

“ Thank you very much for your most kind letter and 
for all that you have said and left unsaid. I too had a 
dull journey from New York and found London duller 
still. As a town it seems to have fallen off ; but it will 
brighten up again I am sure before long! I am glad you 
are all well. I suppose your party will re-unite after Mrs. 
Ogilvie’s cure has been completed. It is strange how we 
are all taking to motor cars. I am myself getting one, 
and I hope in the early summer to have some lovely drives. 


120 


LADY ATHLYNE 


I am looking out for a companion. But it is a difficult 
thing to get exactly the one you want, and without such 
it is lonely work. Even going the utmost pace possible 
could not keep one’s mind away from the want. When 
I went to America that time I was feeling lonely and dull ; 
and I have felt lonelier and duller ever since. But when 
I get my motor I hope all that will shortly cease. I hope 
that when you arrive — if you and Mrs. Ogilvie do come 
over — ^that you will honour my car by riding in it. I shall 
hope to have some one with me whom you must like very 
much — you seem to like nice people and nice people seem to 
be fond of you. I greatly fear it will not be possible for 
me to see Colonel Ogilvie in London, for I have to be away 
very shortly on some business, and I probably shall not be 
back in time; but I am going up North in a few weeks — 
in my new car if it is ready — and I shall hope to see my 
friends. Perhaps Colonel Ogilvie and some of his friends 
will come for a drive with me. Won’t you let me know 
where he will be staying after he leaves London. Please 
give, if occasion serves, my warm remembrance to all. 
I have not forgotten that delightful conversation we had 
before tea the day I called. Tell Miss Joy that I wish we 
could renew and continue it. Miss Ogilvie must be a very 
happy girl to have, in addition to such nice parents who 
love her so much, an aunt like you so much her own age, 
so sympathetic, so understanding. I cannot tell you how 
much I am obliged to you for writing. I look eagerly for 
another letter. 

“ Believe me. 

Yours very sincerely.” 

There he hesitated. He had meant never to write again 
the name Richard Hardy. Here the letter seemed to demand 
it. He had already thought the matter over in all ways and 
from all points of view and had, he thought, made up his 
mind to go through with the fraud as long as it was 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 


I2I 


absolutely necessary. There was no other way. But now 
when he had to write out the lie — as it appeared to him 
to be — his very soul revolted at it. It seemed somehow 
to dishonour Joy. Since he had looked into the depth of 
her eyes, scruples had come to him which had not ever 
before troubled him. It was unworthy of her, and of 
himself, to continue a lie. And so with him began again 
the endless circle of reasoning on a basis of what was 
false. 

A lie, little or big, seems gifted with immortality. At 
its creation it seems to receive that vitality which belongs 
to noxious things. The germs which preserve disease 
survive the quick lime of the plague-pit and continue 
after the seething mass of corruption has settled into 
earthly dust; and when the very bones have been resolved 
into their elements the waiting germs come forth on dis- 
turbance of the soil strong and baneful as ever. 

Sometimes Athlyne grumbled to himself of the hardness 
of his lot. It was too bad that from such a little thing 
as taking another name, and merely for the purpose of a 
self-protective investigation of a lie, he should find himself 
involved in such a net-work of deceit. Other people did 
things a hundred times worse every day of their lives. 
He had often done so himself ; but nothing ever came of it. 
But now, when his whole future might depend upon it, 
he was face to face with an actual danger. If Colonel 
Ogilvie quarrelled with him about it that would mean the 
end of all. Joy would never quarrel with her father; of 
that he felt as surely as that he loved her. All unknown 
to himself Athlyne had an instinctive knowledge of char- 
acter. Any one who had ever seen him exercise the faculty 
would have been astonished by the rapidity of its working. 
The instant he had seen Joy he had recognised her qualities. 
He had understood young Breckenridge at a glance ; other- 
wise he was too shrewd a man to trust him as he had done. 
It is not often that a man will entrust the first comer in 


122 


LADY ATHLYNE 


a crowd with a valuable horse. To this man, too, an utter 
stranger, he had entrusted his secret, the only person who 
now knew it on the entire American continent. So also 
with Colonel Ogilvie. He was assured in his inner con- 
sciousness that that old gentleman would be hard to con- 
vince of the necessity for disguise. There was something 
about his fine stern-cut features — so exquisitely modified 
in his daughter — and in his haughty bearing which was 
obnoxious to any form of deceit. 

One of these grumbling fits came on him now, and so 
engrossed him that he quite forgot to sign the letter. It 
was in the post box when he recollected the omission. He 
rejoiced when he did so that he had not written the lie. It 
was queer how sensitive his conscious was becoming! 

One immediate effect of the awakened conscience was 
that he went about a motor car that very afternoon. He 
had said to Miss Judy that he was getting one, and his 
words had to be made good. Moreover he had, in addition 
to the train of reasons induced by Miss Judy’s mention of 
Colonel Ogilvie’s getting a car, a sort of intuition that it 
would be of service to him. Of service to him, meant of 
course, in his present state of mind with regard to Joy — 
of service in furthering his love affair. He had wished 
for a horse and got one, and it had brought him to Joy. 
Now he wanted a motor . , . The chain of reasoning 
seemed so delightfully simple that it would be foolish to 
dispute it. Sub-conscious intuition supplied all lacunae. 

The logic of fact seemed to support that of theory. He 
looked in at his club to find the name of a motor agency. 
There in the hall he met an old diplomatic friend, who 
after greeting him said: 

‘‘ This is good-bye as well.” 

“ How so ? ” he asked. 

“ I am off for Persia. Ballentyre got a stroke just as 
he was starting and they sent for me in a hurry and offered 
me the post. It is too good to refuse, so I am booked for 


THE CAR OF DESTINY 


123 

another three years. I was promising myself a long rest, 
or a spell in a civilised place anyhow. It is too bad, just 
when I was expecting home my new Delaunay-Belleville 
car which has been nearly a year in hand.” 

“ Do you take the car with you ? ” asked Athlyne feeling 
a queer kind of beating of his heart. 

‘‘ No. It would be useless there ; at all events until I 
see what the country and the roads are like. I was just 
off to the agents to tell them to sell it for me.” 

“ Strange we should meet. I came here to look up the 
address of an agent. I want to buy a car.” 

“ Look here, Athlyne ; why not take over this ? I shall 
have to sell it at a sacrifice, and why shouldn’t you have 
the advantage. I’ll let you have it cheap; I would rather 
clear it all up before I go.” 

“ All right, old chap. I’ll take it. What’s the figure ? ” 

“ I agreed to pay ii,ooo. You may have it at what 
you think fair ! ” 

'' All right. Can we settle it now ? ” 

‘‘ By all means.” Athlyne took out his cheque-boOk and 
wrote a cheque which he handed to the other. 

“ I say,” said Chetwynd. “ You have made this for the 
full sum.” 

“ Quite so ! What else could I offer. Why man, do you 
think I would beat you down because you are in a hurry. 
If there is any huckstering it is I who should pay. I get 
my car at once, the very car I wanted. I should have to 
wait another year.” 

Three days after, the car arrived. Athlyne had spent 
the time in getting lessons at a garage and learning some- 
thing of the mechanism. He was already a fair mechanic 
and a fine driver of horses; so that before another week 
was out he had learned to know his car. He got a good 
chauffeur so that he would always have help in case of need ; 
and before the next letter arrived from Miss Judy he was 
able to fly about all over the country. The new car was a 


124 lady athlyne 

beauty. It was loo-iio h. p. and could do sixty miles an 
hour easily. 

The next letter which he received from Miss Hayes was 
short and devoid, so far as he could discern after much 
study, of any cryptic meaning whatever. She thus made 
allusion to the fact that he had not signed his letter : 

By the way I notice that you forgot to sign your letter. 
I suppose you were thinking at the time of other things.’' 
The later sentence was underlined. The information in the 
letter was that Colonel Ogilvie and “ his daughter ” expected 
to be in London on the Saturday following her letter and 
would stay at Brown’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, “ where I 
have no doubt they will be happy to see you if you should 
chance to be in London at the time. I think Lucius intends 
to write you.” 

The latter sentence was literally gall to him. He knew 
that he must not be in London during their stay there. To 
be away was the only decent way of avoiding meeting them. 
He must not meet Colonel Ogilvie until he had made cer- 
tain of Joy’s feeling towards him, for he could not make 
his identity known till he had that certainty. He could 
then explain his position . . . The rest of the possi- 
bilities remained unspoken; but they were definite in his 
own mind. 

As he had to go away he thought it would be well to 
study up the various branches of the Ogilvy as well as of 
the Ogilvie family. He would then make a tour on his 
own account to the various places where were their ancient 
seats. As Colonel Ogilvie was interested in the matter 
some knowledge on his part might lead . . . some- 

where. 


CHAPTER X 


A LETTER 

Before he set out for London, Colonel Ogilvie wrote a 
letter to Mr. Hardy which he sent to the address given 
on the card handed to him at New York. He had thought 
over the matter of writing with the seriousness which he 
always gave to social matters. Indeed he was careful to 
be even more punctilious than usual with this young man; 
firstly because he had got the idea that his overtures had 
not been cordially received and he wished to be just, 
secondly because he felt he must not forget the great 
service rendered to his daughter and himself. In his letter 
he apprised Mr. Hardy that with his daughter he was 
coming to London for a week or more, that they would be 
staying at Brown’s Hotel, Albemarle Street, and that they 
would be very pleased to see him there if he would honour 
them with a visit, and that perhaps he would make it con- 
venient to dine with them any evening which he himself 
might select. He also told him that Mrs. Ogilvie and her 
sister were to remain some weeks longer in Italy, and that 
they would join him in the North of England, whence they 
would go all together to some bracing part of Scotland, 
to be decided later on when the time came for the after- 
cure. Of course, as he did not know that Athlyne was al- 
ready in correspondence with Miss Judy, and was particular 
to give details of his future movements. Before posting it 
he showed the letter to Joy so that he might have her 
opinion as to whether all was correct. Joy was secretly 
fluttered, but she preserved admirably her self-control and 
came well through the ordeal, leaving no suspicion in the 
mind of her father as to the real state of things. She 

125 


126 


LADY ATHLYNE 


was now very deeply in love; the days that had passed had 
each and all fed the flame of her incipient passion. Time 
and the brain working together have a period of growth 
of their own which the physiopsychists have called “ uncon- 
cious cerebration,” a sort of intellectual process whereby 
crude thoughts are throughout the darkness of suspended 
effort developed into logical results. Again, one of Nature’s 
mysterious workings; again one of her analogies to the 
inner and outer worlds of growth. As the hibernating 
seed, as the child in the womb, so the thought of man. 
Growth without ceasing, in light or darkness. Logical 
development, from the gates of Life to the gates of Death. 

Joy was so deeply in love that all her thoughts, all her 
acts, all her hopings and fearings were tinged by it. Dreams 
need a physical basis somewhere; and whatever is the 
outward condition of man or woman so will be the mind. 
Whatever the inward, so will be the outward; each is the 
true index to the other. Her father, though an acute 
enough man in other respects, was sublimely unconscious 
of any change in his little girl; indeed he held her in his 
mind as but a child to whom the realities of life had not 
yet presented themselves. And yet even as a father he 
was feeling the effects of her developed affection. All the 
sweetness of her childhood had ripened. Somehow her 
nature had become more buoyant, more elastic. Sweetness 
and thoughtful understanding of his wishes seemed to 
breathe from her. Now and again were languorous moments 
when her whole being seemed to yield itself involuntarily 
to a wish outside her own. To a woman these are times of 
danger. For when the will ceases, passivity is no longer 
negative ; it is simply a doubling of the external domination 
— as though an active spirit had been breathed into inertness. 
There are many readings to any of the Parables. When 
certain devils have been cast out and the house has been 
swept and garnished may it not be that spirits other than 
devils may find place therein. May it not also be that there 


A LETTER 


127 


is a virtue in even selfishness; if only that its protective 
presence keeps out devils that would fain enter the house 
where it abides. 

With a spirit of meekness Joy waited the coming of the 
friend who had been bidden. She had every confidence 
that he would come. True that he had not written to her; 
but she had seen his unsigned letter to Judy, and into its 
barrenness had read meanings of her own. How could he 
not come to her when she would have so gladly flown to 
him? Besides there was always with her the memory of 
that rapturous moment when he had spoken her name: 
“Joy look at me!” It was not hard to remember that; 
it was the only time she had heard her name upon his lips. 
As the weeks had gone by, that little sentence impulsively 
spoken had arrived at the dignity of a declaration of passion. 
It had grown in her mind from a request to a command; 
and she felt the sweetness of being commanded by a man 
she loved. In that moment she had accepted him as her 
Master; and that acceptance on a woman’s part remains 
as a sacred duty of obedience so long as love lasts. This 
is one of the mysteries of love. Like all other mysteries, 
easy of acceptance to those who believe; an acceptance 
which needs no doubting investigation, no proof, no con- 
sideration of any kind whatever. She had faith in him, 
and where Faith reigns Patience ceases to be a virtue. 

Her father waited also, though not in the same meek- 
ness of spirit. Indeed his feeling was fast becoming an 
exasperation in which the feeling of gratitude was merging. 
He felt that he had done all that was right and correct with 
regard to the young man. He had gone out of his way 
to be nice to him; but with only the result of insult — that 
was the way in which he was beginning to construe the 
silence of Mr. Hardy. Insult to his daughter as well as 
himself ; and that was a thing which could not be brooked 
from anyone no matter how strong or how numerous were 
his claims for leniency! Joy saw that there was some 


128 


LADY ATHLYNE 


cause of displeasure with her father, and with a sinking 
heart had to attribute it to the real cause. She knew — 
which her father did not — from his letter to Judy that 
Mr. Hardy would have to be away from London just at 
the time of their visit; but she was afraid to speak lest she 
should precipitate catastrophe. It was not that she had 
fear in the ordinary sense. Much as she loved her father 
she would face him if necessary. But she felt that it would 
be unwise to force the issue prematurely; her father was 
a man of such strong prejudices — he called them convic- 
tions! — that once they were aroused they mastered his 
judgment. What might happen if he should give them scope 
on this occasion! Her heart sank more deeply still at the 
very thought. 

In her anxiety she took what was probably the wisest 
course; she kept him perpetually busy, trotting about with 
her to see the sights of London. This was a pleasure which 
she had long promised herself with — since the adventure 
with the run-away horse — the added interest of having 
present a nice Englishman to point out and explain. This 
special charm had now to be foregone ; and the denial made 
her secretly sad. However, the best anodyne to pain is 
pain ; her anxiety regarding her father’s case was a counter- 
actant to her own. Father and daughter were so busy, 
morning noon and night, and the girl appeared to be so tired 
when the day’s programme as laid down had been exhausted, 
that occasion was lacking for consideration of a disagreeable 
subject. Towards the end of the first week, however. 
Colonel Ogilvie’s patience began to fail. He felt that he 
must speak of his annoyance to some one, and there was 
no choice. Joy felt that the moment had come, and she 
did not flinch. She had a grim foreboding that there would 
be something said which would give her pain to hear. Her 
hands were tied. She could not even mention that Mr. 
Hardy was away; her father would be sure to ask how 
she knew it. If he did so, she would not dare to tell him; 


A LETTER 


129 

for she knew well that if he learned that the man who had 
not even answered his own letter was in secret correspond- 
ence with the ladies of his own family — that is how he 
would put it — the fact would add fuel to the flame, would 
change chagrin to fury. And so she steeled herself to the 
quiet endurance of suffering. 

The blow fell at breakfast time when her father had 
looked through the few letters which lay beside his plate. 

Well, I do think that that young man’s rudeness is 
unpardonable ! ” 

Joy looked up with a pleasant smile which belied the 
chilly feeling about her heart. She felt that she must 
pretend ignorance; her father might, later on, hold a too 
ready acceptance as suspicious: 

“ What, Daddy ? Who ? Whose rudeness ? ” 

That — that gentleman whom I asked to dine with us. 
Mr. Hardy.” 

“ Perhaps he may not have got your letter.” 

How do you mean, daughter ? He must have got it ; 
I directed it to the address he gave me himself.” 

“ But Daddy, he may be away. You remember he told 
you at dinner that day in the Holland that he had impor- 
tant business. It may have been prolonged you know. He 
may not even be in London.” 

'' Then he should see that his letters are duly sent on 
to him.” 

“ Certainly he ought. But perhaps Daddy he’s not as 
careful as we are. He may not be a man of business!” 
Colonel Ogilvie smiled: 

'' I’m afraid that is a very bad argument my dear. You 
have just used the opposite! ” 

'' How so, Daddy ? ” she asked wrinkling up her brows. 

*^You said he might be away on business!” He was 
so pleased with his combating of her argument that her 
purpose was effected; he abandoned the subject — for a 
time. 


LADY ATHLYNE 


130 

The next morning, however, he renewed it again under 
similar circumstances: 

“ I think, my dear, that we had better give up any idea 
of keeping that young man on the list of our friends. It 
is quite evident that he does not care to continue our 
acquaintanceship ! ’’ Joy suffered much this time ; all the 
more because there was nothing that she could say which 
would be wise. She had to content hersef with a common- 
place acceptance of his views. So she answered with as 
steady a voice as she could manage : 

Of course. Daddy ! Whatever you think right 1 ” The 
answer pleased her father; he showed it in his reply: 

“ I am sorry about it, my dear ; for he seemed a fine 
young fellow, and he saved you very bravely. However we 
cannot help it. We did all we could to make him welcome ; 
but we can’t force him to come to us. It isn’t an occasion 
for wain-ropes ! ” After a pause she ventured to say 
meekly : 

“ Yes. It would be a pity if we had to quarrel with a 
man who did so much for us. I suppose if he could show 
that he did not get your letter, then it would be — you could 
forgive him.” 

“Of course I would, my dear. But these English are 
so stand-off that there is no understanding them. I wanted 
to be friends with the man who saved my little girl . . . 

But there, it is no use wishing anything when people are 
pig-headed . . .” 

His words somehow made Joy’s heart glow. It might 
be all right yet, if only . . . 

But the present was sadly un-right. The suspense, the 
uncertainty, the waiting in the dark were hard to bear. It 
was little wonder that in the middle of the following week 
her father noticed that she had grown pale and listless. 
Deep down in his mind he connected it somehow with 
“ that damned fellow ” but he took care not to betray his 
thought to his daughter in any way. His present wish was 


A LETTER 


13T 

that even the existence of the fellow should fall out of 
the memory of his family. As for himself he never let 
a grievance fall out of his memory; there had to be a 
day of reckoning for all concerned in such. 

He quietly made preparations for their northern tour, 
and when all was ready told Joy who joined with alacrity 
in the move. London was now growing hateful to her. 

In the meantime Athlyne, living either in his castle of 
Ceann-da-Shail — which he had long looked on as his home 
— as a centre, was flying about in his new motor, learning 
each day fresh mysteries of driving. The speeds of the 
motor are so much above those of other vehicles that a 
driver, howsoever experienced he may be in other ways, 
seems here to be dealing with a new force. The perspective 
changes so fast as the machine eats up the space that the 
mind requires to be practised afresh in judging distances 
and curves. It had been a bitter regret to him that he had 
to keep out of London just when Joy had come to it. His 
mind was always running on what a delight it would be 
to be with her when all the interesting things came before 
her; to note the sudden flushes of delight, to see the quick 
lifting of the beautiful eyes, to look into their mysterious, 
bewildering depths. At first when such ideas took him 
whilst driving, he nearly ran into danger. Unconsciously 
his hands would turn the wheel for speed, and in his eager- 
ness he would make such swerves and jumps that unde- 
sirable things almost happened. However, after a few such 
experiences his nerves learned their own business. It is 
part of the equipment of a chauffeur to be able to abstract 
and control his driving senses from all other considerations ; 
and such dual action of the mind requires habit and experi- 
ence for its realisation. The constant watchfulness and 
anxiety had at least this beneficent use: that for a part of 
the day at all events his mind was kept from brooding over 
his personal trouble. 


LADY ATHLYNE 


132 

The arrival of Colonel Ogilvie’s letter, sent on to him 
from London, made in a way a new trouble for him; for 
whilst he was delighted to get so friendly an overture it 
was he saw but another difficulty ahead of him. He must 
either reply in his false name, which was now hateful to 
him; or he must leave the letter, for the present, unan- 
swered. This latter alternative would be dangerous with 
a man so sensitive and so punctilious; but, all told, it was 
the lesser evil. He had had opportunity to make up his 
mind on the subject before the letter came, for Aunt Judy 
had said in her last letter that Colonel Ogilvie had spoken 
about writing to him before they should arrive in London. 
Still it was a sore trial to him to be so discourteous, with 
the added chagrin that it might — probably would — stand in 
his way with the one man in the world whom he wished 
to propitate. 

As he did not know anything about the history of Colonel 
Ogilvie’s family he went to the peerage books and made 
lists of the bearers of that name in its different spellings; 
and then as he decided to go to many of the places named, 
he made runs into Perthshire and Forfar. He came to the 
conclusion that he must have misunderstood Colonel 
Ogilvie in alluding to the “ Border Counties.” He laid up, 
however, a good deal of local information which might be 
pleasing to his prospective father-in-law. 

One morning he had a letter which quite fluttered him. 
It was from Aunt Judy telling him that Colonel Ogilvie 
had announced his intention of starting on the then coming 
Thursday for the north, and that he had given as the 
direction of his letters till further notice the “ Inn of Greet- 
ing,” Ambleside. The unqualified pleasure which he re- 
ceived from this news was neutralised by the postscript: 

“ By the way — this of course in your private ear, now 
and hereafter — Colonel Ogilvie is vastly disappointed that 
you have not been to see him in London, and that you have 


A LETTER 


133 


not even replied to his letter. Surely there must be some 
mistake about this. I sincerely hope so, for he looks on 
any breach of courtesy, or any defect in it, as an unpardon- 
able sin. I know from the fact of his mentioning it to 
his womenkind that he has taken it to heart. Do, do my 
dear friend, who have done so much for us and whose friend- 
ship we wish to hold, repair this without delay. He is an 
old man and may possibly expect more from a younger 
man than from one of his own standing. I am sure that 
if there has been any omission there is on your part a good 
reason for it. But do not lose any time. If you wish to 
please us all — and I am sure you do — you would do well 
to go up to Ambleside — if you have not seen him already — 
and call on him there. And do like a dear man drop me 
a line at once to say you have received this and telling me 
what you intend to do.” 

He sat for a while quite still, putting his thoughts in 
order. It was now Monday so that Colonel Ogilvie would 
have been already some days at Ambleside. He took it 
for granted that Joy was with him, but he could not help 
a qualm of doubt about even that. Aunt Judy had not 
mentioned her in the matter. The only possible allusion 
was in the underlining of the word “ all.” Otherwise the 
letter was too direct and too serious for any cryptic meaning. 

He came to the conclusion that his best plan would be 
to go at once to some place on Windermere, and from there 
go quietly to Ambleside and find out for himself how things 
lay. The best place for him to stay at would, for his pur- 
poses, be Bowness. There he would leave his car with the 
chauffeur and drive in a carriage to Ambleside. When 
there he would contrive to meet if possible Joy alone. He 
would surely be able to form from her attitude some 
opinion of her disposition towards him. If he were satis- 
fied as to this he would at once go to her father, tell him 
the whole story, and place himself in his hands. 


LADY ATHLYNE 


134 

But then he thought that if he were so near, his name 
might become known to Colonel Ogilvie ; that infernal alias 
seemed to be always standing in his way! He was so 
obsessed by the subject that at times he quite overlooked 
the fact that neither the Colonel nor any of his family knew 
anything whatever of the matter. It took him an hour’s 
hard thought before this idea presented itself to him. It 
took a weight off his mind. If by any chance Colonel 
Ogilvie should hear that an individual called Lord Athlyne 
was in the neighbourhood it would mean nothing to him. 
Nothing except the proximity of one more of that “ bloated 
aristocracy,” which one class of Americans run down — 
and another run after. 

He was then up in Ross. As he did not wish to “ rush ” 
matters he decided to start next day. When that time came 
he had fully made up his plan of action. As the Ogilvies 
were at Ambleside he would go to Bowness. As there was 
a service of public coaches he could go between the places 
mentioned — without even the isolation of a carriage for his 
sole use. He would go quietly to the Inn of Greeting and 
learn what he could about their movements. The rest must 
depend on circumstances. But there must be no hurry; 
the matter was too serious now and the issue too important 
to take any risk. But when he should have seen Joy and 
knew, or believed, or understood . . . Then he would 

lose not a moment in seeing her father. But he might not 
get a chance of seeing him alone and under circumstances 
favourable to his purpose. He must be ready. All at once 
an idea struck him . . . 

All these weeks Athlyne had now and again had a vague 
feeling of uneasiness which he could not understand: a 
sort of feeling that he would some time wake and wonder 
what he had been fretting and fuming about. Why could 
he not have written to Colonel Ogilvie at any time? Even 
before he had left New York, or whilst he had been on 
board ship, or whilst the American family had been in 


A LETTER 


135 

Italy, or even when the Colonel had been in London? Why 
not now? After all, there was nothing in any way wrong; 
nothing to be ashamed of. He was of good social position ; 
at least as good as Joy’s father was. He was himself rich 
and wanted no fortune with his wife. He had won certain 
honours — a man to whose name had been suffixed V.C. and 
D.S.O. must be considered personally adequate for ordinary 
purposes. And so on. Vanity and self-interest, in addition 
to the working of the higher qualities, supplied many good 
reasons. 

And yet! . . . He was always being brought up against 
one of two things: Colonel Ogilvie’s peculiar views and 
character, or his own position towards him with regard to 
the alias. He could always find in either of these some- 
thing which might cause pain or trouble to Joy. Moreover 
there was another matter which was a powerful factor in 
his conclusions, although it was one which he did not analyse 
or even realise. It was one that worked unconsciously; a 
disposition rather than an activity; a tendency rather than 
a thought. Lord Athlyne was Scotch and Irish; a Celt of 
Celts on his mother’s side. He had all that underlying 
desire of the unknown which creates sentiment, and which 
is so pronounced a part of the Celtic character. This it is 
whence comes that clinging to the place of birth which has 
made the peasantry of the Green Isle for seven hundred 
years fight all opposing forces, from hunger to bayonets, 
to hold possession of their own. This it is which animated 
a race, century after century, to suffer and endure from 
their Conquerors of a more prosaic race all sorts of pain 
and want, and for reasons not understandable by others. 
Those who have lived amongst those Celts of the outlying 
fringes, amongst whom racial tendencies remain' unaltered 
by changing circumstances, and by whom traditions are 
preserved not by historical purpose but by the exercise of 
faith, know that there is a Something which has a name but 
no external bounds or limitations, no quick principle, no 


LADY ATHLYNE 


136 

settled purpose. Something which to an alien can only be 
described by negatives; if any idea can at all be arrived at 
by such — any idea however rudimentary, phantasmal or 
vague — it can only be acquired at all by a process of ex- 
clusions. The name is “ The Gloom ; the rest is a birth- 
right. Those who can understand it need no telling or ex- 
plaining; others can no more understand it than those born 
without eyes can see. It is a quality opposed to no other; 
it can exist with any. It can co-exist with fighting, with 
song, with commerce. It makes no change in other powers 
or qualities of the children of Adam. Those who possess it 
can be good or bad, clever or silly, heroic or mean. It can 
add force to imagination, understand nature, give quiet 
delight or spiritual pain. And the bulk of those who have 
it do not think of it or even know it: or if they do, hardly 
ever speak of it. 

Athlyne had his full share of it. Being young and strong 
and of a class in life which seldom lacks amusement he had 
not been given to self-analysis. But all the same, though 
he did not think of it, the force was there. In his present 
emotional crisis it brought the lover in him up to the Celtic 
ideal. An ideal so strangely saturated with love that his 
whole being, his aims and ambitions, his hopes and fears, his 
pleasures and pains yielded place to it and for the time be- 
came merged in it. To him the whole W’ord seemed to 
revolve round Joy as a pivotal point. Nothing could be of 
any use or interest which did not have touch of her or lead 
to her. So, he wanted to know beyond the mere measure 
of intellectual belief if Joy loved him or was on the way to 
doing so. When he was satisfied as to this he would be 
free to act ; but not before. 

On the journey he had allowed the chauffeur to drive, as 
he wanted to think over the whole matter without fear of 
interruption. He had sat in the tonneau and made from 
time to time notes in his pocket-book. He had now made 
up his mind that he would write a letter to Colonel Ogilvie 


A LETTER 


137 

telling him the whole circumstances. This he would keep 
in his pocket so that at the first moment when he was 
satisfied as to Joy’s views he could post it, in case he could 
not have the opportunity of a personal explanation. After 
dinner the second night of the journey and then in his bed- 
room he sat up writing the letter and then copying it out 
on his own note paper of which he had for the purpose 
brought a supply with him. When it was completed it left 
nothing that he could think of open to doubt. When he 
had got this off his mind sleep came to him. 

Next day he took the wheel himself; and that day when 
there was fitting opportunity the car hummed along merrily 
at top speed. Before sunset they arrived at Bowness. 
There he left the car in charge of the chauffeur, on whom 
he again impressed the necessity for absolute silence. The 
man was naturally discreet, and he saw that he was in a 
good situation. Athlyne was satisfied on leaving him that 
his orders would be thoroughly carried out. 

In the forenoon of the next day he took the steamer 
which plies along the Lake, and in due course landed at 
Ambleside. His heart beat quickly now and his eyes 
searched keenly all around him as he moved. He would not 
miss a chance of seeing Joy. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 

The first couple of days at Ambleside were a delight to 
Joy. In the change from the roar and ceaseless whirl of 
London was such a sense of peace that it influenced even the 
pain of her heart-hunger. Here in this lovely place, where 
despite the life and movement of the little town nature 
seemed to reign, was something to calm nerves overstrung 
with waiting and apprehension. It was a relief to her at 
first, a pleasure later, to walk about the pleasant roads with 
her father ; to take long drives beneath shady trees or up on 
the hillside where the lake lay below like a panorama ; to sit 
on the steamer’s deck and drift along the beautiful lake. 

Her father was now and again impatient, not with her 
but because of the non-arrival of the motor which he had 
ordered in London. It had not been quite ready when they 
left and so it was arranged that it should follow them. He 
wanted to have it in possession so that they could fly all over 
the region; the American in him was clamorous for move- 
ment, for speed and progress! He kept up an endless 
telegraphing with the motor people in London, and when 
at last they wired that the car was nearly ready he got a 
map and traced out the route. Each day he marked out a 
space that he thought it ought to have covered, crediting it 
for every hour of daylight with top speed. After all, no 
matter what our ages may be, we are but children and the 
new toy but renews the old want and the old impatience; 
bringing in turn the old disillusionment and the old empty- 
hearted discontent. And the new toy may be of any shape : 
even that of a motor-car — or a beating human heart. 

Partly out of affection for her father and so from sym- 
138 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 


139 


pathy with him, and partly as a relief to herself, Joy looked 
eagerly for the coming of the car. She used to go with him 
to the post office when he was sending his telegrams. In- 
deed she never left him; and be sure he was glad of her 
companionship. Now and again would come over her an 
overwhelming wave of disappointment — ^grief — regret — she 
knew not what — ^when she thought of the friendship so 
romantically begun but failing so soon. The letters from 
Aunt Judy used to worry and even humiliate her. For Judy 
could not understand why there was no meeting; and her 
questions, made altogether for the girl’s happiness but made 
in the helplessness of complete ignorance, gave her niece 
new concern. She had to give reasons, invent excuses. 
This in itself, for she was defending the man, only added 
fuel to her own passion. Joy’s love was ripening very fast; 
all her nature was yielding to it. Each day seemed to make 
her a trifle thinner. Her eyes seemed to grow bigger and 
at times to glow like lamps. Whenever she could, she kept 
looking out on the road by which He might come. Walk- 
ing or driving or in the hotel it was all the same. In the 
sitting-room her seat was near the window, her place at 
table where she could command a view. All this added to 
her beauty and so her father took no concern from it. He 
thought she was looking well; and as she was hearty and 
always, whilst with him, in good spirits and vivacious and 
even eager in her movements, he was more than satisfied. 

One morning as she was sitting alone close to the window, 
presumably reading for she had a book in her lap, she caught 
sight with the tail of her eye of a figure that she knew. 
There was no mistaking on her part that tall, upright man 
with the springy step ; the image was too deeply burned into 
her heart for that. For a fraction of a second her heart 
stood still; and then the wave of feeling went over her. 
Instinctively she drew back and kept her head low so that 
only her eyes were over the line of the window sill. She 
did not wish to be recognised — all at once. With the real- 


140 


LADY ATHLYNE 


isation of her woman’s wishes came all the instinctive exer- 
cise of her woman’s wiles. He was walking so slowly that 
she had time to observe him fully, to feast her eyes on him. 
He was looking up at the hotel, not eagerly she thought, 
but expectantly. This, though it did not chill her, some- 
how put her on guard. She slipped behind the window 
curtain and peeped cautiously. As he came closer to the 
hotel he went still more slowly. He did not come to the 
door as she expected, but moved along the street. 

This all puzzled her; puzzled her very much. She knew 
that Judy had written to him of their coming to London, she 
had seen his reply to her letter; and Judy with her usual 
thoughtful kindness had mentioned — as though by chance, 
for she was the very soul of kindly discretion — that when 
she knew what locality and hotel had been fixed on for the 
visit to the Lakes she would tell him. It was evident, that 
he knew they were there and in the hotel; why, then, did 
he not come to see them. How she would have hurried, 
she thought, had she been the man and loved as she did! 
She had no doubting whatever of his good faith. “ Per- 
fect love casteth out fear.” And doubt is but fear in a timid 
form. She accepted in simple good faith that he had some 
purpose or reason of his own. Her manifest duty to him, 
therefore, was not to let any wish or act of hers clash with 
it. So she set herself to think it all out, feeling in reality 
far happier than she had done for many weeks. It was not 
merely that she had, after long waiting, seen the man; but 
she was now able to do something for him — if indeed it was 
only the curbing of her own curiosity, her own desires. 

She rose quietly and went to her bed-room which was at 
another side of the house — on the side towards which He 
had passed. Her father was writing letters and would not 
want her; he had said at breakfast that he would not be 
able to go out for an hour or two. In her room she went 
cautiously to her window and, again hiding behind the cur- 
tains, glanced into the street. She felt quite sad when she 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 


141 

only saw his back as he walked slowly along. Every now 
and again he would stop and look round him as though ad- 
miring the place and the views as the openings between the 
houses allowed him to see the surrounding country. Once 
or twice she could see him look out under his eyebrows as 
though watching the hotel without appearing to do so. 
Presently he turned the corner of the next street to the left, 
moving as though he wished to go all round the hotel. 

She sat down and thought, her heart beating hard. Her 
face was covered with both her hands. Forehead and 
cheeks and neck were deeply flushed; and when she took 
away her hands her eyes were bright and seemed to glow. 
She seemed filled with happiness, but all the same looked 
impossibly demure; as is woman’s nature, playing to con- 
vention even when alone. 

Before she left her room she had changed her clothes, 
putting on after several experiments the frock which she 
thought the most becoming. She did not send for her maid, 
but did everything for herself ; even to hanging up the dis- 
carded frocks. Then she went back to the sitting room and 
took as before her seat at the window, keeping however a 
little more in the background. She wanted to see rather 
than to be seen. With her eyes seemingly on her book, but 
in reality sweeping under her lashes the approaches to the 
hotel like searchlights, she sat quite quietly for some time. 
At length the eyes suddenly fell for an instant under an 
uncontrollable wave of diffidence; she had seen Him pass 
into the garden opposite to the hotel and go secretively be- 
hind some lilac bushes opposite the doorway. But after 
that one droop of the eyes, there was scarce even the flicker 
of an eyelid; she did not want to lose a single glimpse of 
him. 

Sitting by the window, where he could see her, for a full 
hour until her father appeared, she thought over the new 
phase of the matter. If she had ever had any real doubt 
as to whether Mr. Richard Hardy loved her it was all 


LADY ATHLYNE 


142 

resolved now. For certain he loved her — and as much, she 
hoped, as she loved him ! He had sought her out at Amble- 
side; for even in her own secret mind she never went 
through the pretence of trying to persuade herself that it 
may have been some one else that he was looking for. 

But why was he so secret? Why did he not come at 
once into the hotel and ask to see her father. He had been 
invited to come ; he had been made a welcome guest at the 
Holland. He knew their movements; he had written to 
Judy. But why did he keep so aloof? If he wanted to 
avoid them altogether he had only to keep away. Why 
then did he keep coming round the house and looking at it 
secretively? She was absolutely at a standstill every time 
her thinking led her to this impasse. But, all the same, she 
never questioned or doubted the man. In her own mind she 
was sure that he had some good reason for all he did ; and 
it was her duty not to thwart but to help him. 

She had already accepted the position of a true wife, a 
true lover : The man’s will was law ! 

Then her thoughts turned as to how best she could help 
him. Here all her brains as well as all the instincts of her 
womanhood came into play; and this is a strong combina- 
tion in a man’s service. Her arguments ran: 

As he evidently wishes his presence to be unknown she 
must not seem to know of it. 

As he evidently wanted to know something about her she 
would take care that he knew what he wished, so far as 
she could know or effect it. 

As (perhaps) he wished to see her (from afar, or at all 
events without proclaiming himself) she would take care 
that he would have plenty of opportunities. 

But as he did not want Daddy to see him — at present 
(this last qualification she insisted on to herself) she would 
have to be careful that her father did not notice his presence. 
This she felt would be difficult, and might be dangerous ; she 
feared that if the two men should meet just at present 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 


143 

(another qualification equally insisted on) her father might 
make some quarrel or trouble. 

As Daddy might make trouble this way, she must keep 
very close to him. She might thus be able to smooth mat- 
ters, or do something if any occasion came. 

And she must be careful that he did not notice that she 
saw him. This argument came straight out of her sex- 
artfulness. Every instinct of her being told her that such 
would be the most effective way of bringing the man to her. 
And Oh! but she did long to see him, close to her where 
they could see each other clearly. “ Look at me ! ” seemed 
to throb through her every nerve, and make a clang of great 
music in her brain. 

When presently Colonel Ogilvie, having finished his let- 
ters, asked her what she would like to do that morning 
she said she would like to go for a drive. She knew that 
there would be more security in the isolation of a carriage 
than when walking, where a chance meeting might occur 
at any moment. 

When Athlyne, who was watching the hotel from the 
garden where the shrubs gave him cover, saw the landau 
at the door he thought he would wait and see if by any 
chance it might be for the Ogilvies’ use. His hopes were 
justified when he saw Joy follow her father from the door- 
way. She looked radiantly beautiful; so beautiful that all 
his love and passion surged up in him till he felt almost 
suffocated. He had quite a good view of her, for she 
stood for a minute or two in front of the horses giving them 
lumps of sugar and stroking their noses. He heard the 
voices of both father and daughter. Colonel Ogilvie’s was 
strong and resonant; Joy’s was sweet and clear. Moreover, 
she spoke on purpose a little more loudly than usual; she 
knew that He was listening and would like to hear her voice. 

“ Tell him where you would like to go, little girl.” 

“ Anywhere you think best, coachman ; provided we get 
a good view. We had better be back here in about an hour. 


144 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Then, Daddy, we shall keep quiet after lunch — if that will 
suit you, dear. After tea we can go out again and have a 
long drive and come back in the lovely English twilight. 
Of course if you would like to. Daddy. I must say there 
is one institution that I wish we had in America.” 

“ And what is that daughter ? ” 

‘‘ The twilight ! Since I have seen it, our own night 
seems very cruel ! It shuts down too fast. For my own 
part of ever I fall in love ” here the words became in- 

distinct ; she was entering the carriage. 

She had chosen her words on purpose. She wished to 
let Him know the plans for the day. She knew well that at 
the end of the hour he would be waiting, hidden in the 
garden, to see their return. Thus he would see her again, 
and she by going quickly to the window would perhaps see 
him again. She had spoken of not going out again till after 
tea, because she did not wish to keep him all day at his 
post; .she knew that this would happen if he were in 
ignorance of her movements. He, poor fellow ! would have 
to get lunch. . . . She was exercising for him already the 
solicitude of a wife for a husband. As to the remarks about 
twilight, that had a double origin. Firstly it was quite 
true ; she had long had it in her mind. Secondly it was a 
sort of ballon d'essai; it might point or lead somewhere. 
Where that might be she knew not; but she had a vague 
hopeful feeling that there was an answer — somewhere. 

As to the remark about ever loving. Well ! she could not 
have explained that herself. All she knew was that she 
had a sudden desire to mention the word. . . . 

Athlyne profited by the lesson ; but his acts were not quite 
what Joy had anticipated. She, thinking from the feminine 
standpoint, had taken it that he would remain at his post 
until the return and then avail himself of the longer period 
for rest and food. But Athlyne was a soldier and had as 
such long ago learned the maxim that in route marching 
the camp should be set beyond the bridge. Moreover in 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 


145 


the strenuous life of the Boer war he had superadded the 
wisdom of taking his meal at the first opportunity. As soon 
as the carriage had disappeared from view he went straight 
into the hotel and ordered his lunch in the Coffee-room. 
He was really hungry, and the lamb and salad were excel- 
lent; but had he not been hungry, and had the food been 
poor, he would have enjoyed it without knowing its in- 
feriority. Everything was good to him this morning; he 
had seen Joy! 

He was out in the garden in good time. Fortunately so, 
from his point of view. For Joy, believing that he would 
be still waiting, kept the coachman up to time. It might 
well have been that they had met in the hall. 

The drive had increased the girl’s loveliness, if such were 
possible. Her eyes were bright, there was fine colour in her 
cheeks, and her voice and manner were full of vivacity. 
The bright sun and the sweet, strong air had braced her; 
and perhaps some inward emotion had exercised the same 
effect. One quick glance under her eyelashes as they drove 
towards the hotel had shewn her the outline of a tall figure 
close to the lilacs in the garden. As her father helped her 
from the carriage with all his habitual gallantry of manner 
she said in a clear voice — ^Athlyne across the street heard 
every word : 

“ That drive was exquisite ! Wasn’t it Daddy ? Thank 
you so much for it! The lights and shadows on the hills 
were simply divine. It would be nice to go again to-mor- 
row in something of the same direction. We might go 
about the same hour, if it would suit you, and see the same 
effects again ! ” 

When they had gone in Athlyne waited a little while in 
the garden. He sat in the sunshine on a garden seat placed 
in the centre of the grass plot. He was not afraid of being 
seen at present, and as he knew that Joy and her father 
were in the house he did not even try to look for them. 
Had he chosen a position for the purpose of giving Joy 


LADY ATHLYNE 


146 

pleasure he could not have done better than this. From 
behind her window curtain she could see him plainly. To 
her he made a beautiful picture, of which the natural setting 
was complete: the background of sweet pale lilac, the 
dropping gold of the laburnum and the full red of scarlet 
hawthorn; his feet in the uncut grass starred with daisies. 
She had a long, long view of him, watching every move- 
ment and expression with eager eyes. One thing he did 
which she could not understand. He took from his breast 
pocket an envelope ; this he opened and took from it a letter. 
Instead of reading it, however, he sat for a long time with 
it in his hand. Then with a quick movement he put it back 
in the envelope, moistened the flap with his lips and closed 
it. Joy’s idea had been that it might have been Judy’s 
letter which he had intended to re-read ; but this could not 
be. For an instant a spasm of pain had gripped her heart 
as the thought came that it might have been from some 
other woman. But that idea she swept aside imperiously. 
Now she knew that it was some letter of his own, and the 
questioning of her brain began to assail her heart: 

Whom could he be writing to ? What could he be writing 
about? Why did he have a finished letter in his pocket, 
not even sealed up? 

If she had known the truth she would have sat quiet, not 
with perturbation but in a silent ecstasy. Athlyne had made 
up his mind that if occasion did not serve for his seeing 
Joy alone he would send the letter to Colonel Ogilvie and 
risk being refused. In such case he would have to take 
another course, and try to obtain her consent in spite of 
her father’s wishes. He did not, however, intend to send 
the letter yet. His first hope was too sweet to abandon 
without good cause. His closing the letter was but an im- 
pulsive expression of his feeling. 

Suddenly he stood up and moved out of the garden. 
This did not puzzle her, but awoke all her curiosity. She 
had a wild desire to see where he was going; but as she 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 


147 

could not follow him she made up her mind to present pa- 
tience. She watched from her window till he had passed 
out of sight. She was glad that she was concealed behind 
the curtain when she saw him at the furthest point of sight 
turn and give a long look back at the hotel. Then she went 
to her room to get ready for lunch. 

Athlyne felt that he must do something to let off steam. 
Movement of some kind was necessary in his present frame 
of mind. For his pleasure was not unmixed. He had seen 
Joy, and she was looking more radiantly beautiful than 
ever. But she had said one thing that sent a pang through 
him : ‘Mf I ever fall in love.’’ There could hardly be any 
doubt of her sincerity; she was talking to her father quite 
alone and unconscious that he of all men was within ear- 
shot. “ If I ever fall in love,” that meant that she had not 
yet done so. It would be wise to wait before sending the 
letter so that he might see if that happy time had come or 
had even begun to peep above the horizon. Unconsciously 
he took from his pocket the letter and his pocket-book, put 
the former into the latter and returned it to its place. 

Athlyne was no fool ; but he was only a man, and as such 
took for gospel every word spoken by the woman he loved. 
Had Joy been present and known his difficulty, and had 
cared to express herself then as she would have done later, 
she would have smiled at him as she said : 

“ Why you dear old goose how could I fall in love with 
you when I had done that already!” 

Had Aunt Judy been commenting on the comment she 
would have said in her genial cynicism : 

“ A woman — or a man either — can only fall in love once 
in a life time; with the same person! ” 

Athlyne telephoned his chauffeur to whom he had al- 
ready sent a wire to be prepared, and in a time to be com- 
puted by minutes met him outside Ambleside. There he 
took the wheel himself, telling the man to meet him a little 
before five o’clock. He felt that he must be alone. He 


LADY ATHLYNE 


148 

went slowly so long as he was near the town ; but when he 
found himself on a clear road, over which he could see 
for a long way ahead, the index went round to “speed” 
and as the car swept over the ground its rush kept pace 
with his own thoughts. 

He went about a hundred miles before he regained any- 
thing like calm. Trying afterwards to recall the sequence 
of his thoughts he never could arrive at any sort of con- 
clusion regarding them. 

The only thing definite in his mind was that he wanted 
to see Joy again, and soon. He knew they would be start- 
ing out after tea time which meant, he knew, something 
after five o’clock; and not for a world of chrysolite would 
he miss being there. Outside Ambleside he met the chaf- 
feur whom he sent back to Bowness ; he did not want his 
car to be too much en evidence at Ambleside at present. 
He had a wash and a cup of tea at another hotel; and at 
five strolled back to his nook in the garden. 

By this time Joy had made up her mind that he might 
come back that evening though — with still her protective 
instinct, partly for herself but more for him — she had quite 
made up her mind that even if he should not come she 
would not be disappointed. He was not to be blamed in 
any way, now or hereafter. How could he be? It would 
not be fair. A few minutes before five she took her place 
at the window, but sitting so far back this time that she 
could not be seen from without. She herself could see out, 
but only by raising her head high. This she did now and 
again, but very cautiously. She felt a sort of diffidence, 
a certain measure of shamefacedness lest he should see her 
again and suspect anything. We are very sensitive as to 
the discovery of truth by others when we are ourselves try- 
ing to deceive ourselves ! The few minutes passed slowly, 
very slowly. Then when once more she looked out a great 
thrill of joy shook her. He had come. If doubt there 
had been, it could no longer exist. Her heart beat, her 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 


149 

face flushed, she trembled with a sort of ecstasy ; the waves 
of high passion swept her. She was half inclined to stand 
boldly in the window and let him see her; to let him see 
that she saw him ; to run out to him and fall into his arms. 
There is no boldness that love will not commit when it is 
true! She felt this, though not consciously. There was 
no need for consciousness, for thought, for argument. She 
knew ! 

It was perhaps just as well that her father came into 
the room. He brought a sense of sanity with him ; she felt 
that consciously enough. Her mere faint sigh of regret 
was sufficient proof. 

Joy did not walk down the staircase; she floated, as 
though matter had ceased to exist and the soul was free. 
She stood for a minute on the step looking out at the view ; 
but presently kept changing her pose so that her face might 
be seen with both profiles, as well as the full face. If He 
had come there to see her He should not be disappointed — 
if she could help it. 

That drive was a dream, an ecstasy. At first there was a 
miserable sense that each turn of the wheels took them 
farther apart ; but shortly this was lost in the overwhelming 
sense of gladness. She could have sung — danced — shouted. 
She wanted some physical expression of her feeling. Then 
the excitement settled down to a quiet tingling happiness, a 
sense of peace which was ineffable and complete. 

"... if that all of animated nature 
Be but organic harps diversely framed 
That tremble into thought as o’er them sweeps 
Plastic and vast one intellectual breeze 
At once the soul of each and God of all.” 

So sung, a century before, a poet of that sweet cult of the 
school centred in the very area in which she moved; and 
if his thoughts were true there was a true act of worship 
that sunny afternoon on the rising hills beyond the lake- 


LADY ATHLYNE 


150 

head. For happiness is not merely to be at rest. It is to be 
with God, to carry out to the full His wish that His children 
should appreciate and enjoy the powers and good things 
given them by His hands. And when that happiness is 
based on love — and there is no true happiness on aught that 
is not high — the love itself is of the soul and quivers with 
the flapping of its wings. Then indeed can we realize that 
marvellous promise of the words of the Master: 

“ Blessed are the pure in heart for they shall see God.” 
Wordsworth and those who held with him saw God and 
worshipped Him in those myriad beauties of the lake they 
loved ; and as the beauty and its immortal truth soothed and 
purified their souls, so was the spirit of the love-sick girl 
cleansed of all dross. How at such a time, when the soul 
swam free in grateful worship, was there place for any- 
thing that was not clean ? Her father thought, as he looked 
at her and heard the ring of her voice, that he had never 
seen her look better or happier. She was full of spirits, 
gay, sweet, tender ; and yet there was over her such a grace 
of gentle gravity that the old man felt himself saying to 
himself : 

“ My little girl is a woman ! ” 

That mellow afternoon was to her lovely; the trees and 
shrubs, the flowers, the fields. The singing of the birds 
was ethereal music; the lights and shadows were the per- 
sonal manisfestation of Nature’s God. Her heart, her sym- 
pathy, her nature were at full tide; all overflowing and in 
their plenitude full. 

The long summer afternoon faded into the softness of 
twilight during the homeward journey. Perhaps it was 
the yielding to its mysterious influence which made Joy so 
still; perhaps it was that she was drawing nearer to the 
man whom she adored. Her father neither knew nor took 
note of it. He saw that his little girl was silent in an 
ecstasy of happiness in that soft twilight of which she had 
spoken so tenderly ; and he was content. He too sat silent, 
yielding himself to the influence of the beauty around him. 


THE BEAUTIFUL TWILIGHT 151 

When they reached the hotel Joy seemed to wake from a 
dream; but she lost none of her present placidity, none of 
her content. One form of happiness had given way to an- 
other, that was all. As she stood on the steps, waiting 
whilst her father was giving the coachman his instructions 
for the morrow, she tried to peer into the lilac bushes in the 
garden. She had a sort of intuition — nay more that an in- 
tuition, an actual certainty — that He was again behind them. 
And once more she so stood and moved that he might see 
her face as he would. When her father turned to come 
in she took his arm and pointed to the sky : 

Oh look. Daddy, the beautiful twilight ! Is it not ex- 
quisite ! ’’ Then impulvisely she put her hand to her lips 
and threw a kiss to it — over the square by way of the lilacs. 
Her voice was languishing music as she said softly, but 
clearly enough to heard in the garden : 

“ Good night ; Good night beloved ! Good night ! Good 
night!’’ 

And Athlyne peering through the bushes heard the words 
with a beating of his heart which made his temples throb. 
His only wish at the moment was that it might have been 
that the words had been addressed to him. 

That evening before going to dress for dinner Joy went 
to the window and pulled aside the blind so that she stood 
outside it. The dusk was now thick; the day had gone, 
but the moon had not yet risen. It was impossible to see 
much; only the outline of the trees, and out on the grass 
the shadowy form of a man seated. There was one faint 
red spark of brightness, face high, such as might be the tip 
of a cigar. 

When she came back into the room her father raised his 
face from his book: 

“ Why how pale you are little girl. I am afraid that 
long drive must have tired you. You were quite rosy 
when we arrived home. You had better sleep it out in the 
morning. If mother sees you pale she will blame me, you 
know. And Judy — well Judy will be Judy in her own way.” 


CHAPTER XII 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 

Athlyne had one other day almost similar to the last, 
This time he came to Ambleside a little earlier ; fortunately 
so, for Joy had got up early. When he came into the square 
she was standing in the window looking out. Not in his 
direction ; did a woman ever do such a stupid thing when at 
the first glance she had caught sight of the man far off. 
No, this time she appeared to be eagerly watching two tiny 
children toddling along the street hand in hand. He had 
time for a good look at her before she changed her position. 
This was only when the children had disappeared — and he 
had gained the shelter of the lilacs. 

Love is a blindness — in certain ways. It never once oc- 
curred to Athlyne that Joy might have seen him, might 
have even known of his being at Ambleside or in its neigh- 
bourhood. Any independent onlooker or any one not bound 
by the simplicity and unquestioning faith of ardent love 
would at least have doubted whether there was not some 
possible intention in Joy’s movements. His faith however 
saved him from pain, that one pain from which true love 
can suffer however baseless it may be — doubt. Early morn- 
ing took him to Ambleside ; he only went back to Bowness 
when those windows of the hotel which he knew were dark- 
ened for the night. 

The second day of waiting and watching was just like 
the first, with only the addition that the hearts of both the 
young people were more clamant, each to each; and that 
the rising passion of each was harder to control. The same 
routine of going out and returning was observed by the 
Ogilvies, and each of the lovers had tumultuous moments 

152 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 


153 

when the other was within view. More than once Athlyne 
was tempted to put his letter in the post or to leave it at 
the hotel; but each time Joy’s chance phrase: “If I ever 
fall in love ” came back to him as a grim warning. He knew 
that if he once declared himself to Colonel Ogilvie the 
whole truth must come out, and then his title and fortune 
might be extraneous inducements to the girl. Whenever 
he came to this point in his reasoning he thrust the letter 
deeper into his pocket and his lips shut tight. He would 
win Joy on his mere manhood and his manhood’s love — if 
at all! 

By the post next morning Colonel Ogilvie and Joy both 
got letters from Italy. That of the former was from his 
wife who announced that they were just starting for London 
where they wished to remain for a few days in order to do 
some shopping. When this was done she would wire him 
and he could run up to London and bring them down with 
him. This pleased him, for he was certain that by then he 
would have his automobile. He felt in a way that his pride 
was at stake on this point. He had told his women folk that 
the car would be ready, and he wished to justify. He 
wired off at once to the agents, in even a sterner spirit than 
usual, as to the cause of delay. For excuses had come in 
a most exasperating way. Long after it had been reported 
that the car had started and had even proceeded a con- 
siderable distance on the way he was told that there had 
been an error and that by some strange mistake the progress 
made by a car long previously ordered by another customer 
had been reported; but that Colonel Ogilvie’s esteemed 
order was well in hand and that delivery of the car was 
daily — hourly — expected; and that at once on its receipt 
by the writer it would be forwarded to Ambleside either 
with a trusty chaffetir or by train as the purchaser might 
wish. Colonel Ogilvie fumed but was powerless. He 
wanted the car and at once; so it was useless for him to 
cancel the contract. He could only wait and hope; and 


154 


LADY ATHLYNE 


console himself with such attenuated expressions of dis- 
approval as were permissible in the ethics of the telegraphic 
system. 

Joy’s letter was from Judy. It was in her usual bright 
style and full of affection, sympathy and understanding, 
as was customary in her letters to her niece. Judy had of 
late been much disturbed in her mind about the future, and 
as she feared Joy might be taking to heart the same matters 
as she did and in the same way, she tried to help the 
other. She knew from Colonel Ogilvie’s letters to his wife 
which they talked over together that he was seriously hurt 
and pained by the neglect of Mr. Hardy. Indeed in his 
last letter he had declared that in spite of the high opinion 
he had formed of him from his brave and ready action he 
never wished to see his face again. To Judy this meant 
much, the most that could be of possible ill ; Joy’s happiness 
might be at stake. The aunt, steeped through and through 
with knowledge of the world and character — a knowledge 
gained from her own heart, its hopes and pains and from 
bitter experience of the woes of others — knew that her 
niece would suffer deeply in case of any rupture between 
her father and the man who had saved her life. It was not 
merely from imaginative sympathy that she derived her 
belief. She had had many and favourable opportunities of 
studying Joy closely, and she had in her own mind no doubt 
whatever that the girl’s affections were given beyond re- 
call to the handsome stranger. So in her letter she tried 
to guard her from the pain of present imaginings and yet 
to prepare her subtly for the possibility of disappointment 
in the future. Her letter in its important part ran : 

“ Your father is undoubtedly very angry with Mr. Hardy ; 
and though I believe that his anger may have a slight 
basis it is altogether excessive. We do not know yet what 
Mr. Hardy’s limitations of freedom may be. After all, 
darling, we do not know anything as yet of his circum- 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 


155 

stances or his surroundings. He may have a thousand calls 
on his time which we neither know nor understand. For 
all we can tell he may have a wife already — ^though this 
I do not believe or accept for a moment And you don’t 
either, my dear! Of course this is all a joke. We know 
he is free as to marriage, though I don’t believe his heart 
is — Eh! Puss! But seriously if you ever get a chance tell 
him to try to be very nice to your father. Old men are 
often more sensitive in some things that young ones, more 
sensitive than even we women are supposed to be. So when 
he does come to see you both — for he will come soon (if he 
hasn’t come already) — don’t keep him all to yourself, but 
contrive somehow that your father can have a little chat 
with him. You needn’t go altogether away you know, my 
dear. Don’t sit so far away that he can’t see you nor you 
him (this is a whisper expressed in writing) and I dare 
say you will like to hear all they say to each other. But if 
he says a word about seeing your daddy alone for a 
moment, if he begins to look ill at ease or to get red 
and then pale and red again, or stammers and clears his 
throat do you just get up quietly and go out of the room 
without a word in the most natural way in the world, just 
as if you were doing some little household duty. I suppose 
I needn’t tell you this; you know it just as well as I do, 
though I have known it by experience and you can not. 
You know how I know it darling though I never told you 
this part of it. Women are Cowards. We know it though 
we don’t always say so, and we even disguise it from others 
now and then. But in such a time as I have mentioned we 
are all Cowards. We couldn’t stay if we would. We 
want to get away and hide our heads just as we do when 
it thunders. But what an awful lot of rot I am talking. 
When Mr. Hardy and your father meet they will, I am sure, 
have plenty to talk about without either you or me being 
the subject of it. They are both sportsmen and fond of 
horses — and a lot of things. It is only if they don’t meet 


LADY ATHLYNE 


156 

that I am afraid of. I am writing by the way to Mr. 
Hardy this post to know where he is at present and where 
he has been. I shall of course write you when I hear; or 
if there be anything important I shall wire. We are off to 
London and it is possible that whilst we are there we may 
have unexpected meetings with all sorts of friends and 
calls from them. I hope, darling, that by the time we reach 
Ambleside we shall find you blooming, full of happiness 
and health and freshness, the very embodiment of your 
name.” 

The letter both disquieted Joy and soothed her. There 
were suggestions of fear, but there was also a con- 
sistent strain of hope. Judy would never have said such 
things if she did not believe them. Moreover she herself 
knew what Judy did not; her aunt hadn’t peeped from 
behind window blinds at a tall figure behind lilac bushes 
or sitting in the darkness with only a fiery cigar tip to 
mark his presence. Poor Judy! The girl’s sympathetic 
heart, made more sympathetic by her own burning love, 
ached when she thought of the older woman’s lonely, 
barren life. She too had loved — and been loved ; had hoped 
and feared, and waited. The very knowledge of how a 
woman would feel when the man was asking formally for 
parental sanction disclosed something of which the girl 
had never thought. She had always known Judy in such 
a motherly and elderly aspect that she had never realised 
the possibility of her having ever been in love; any more 
that she had given consideration to the love-making of her 
own mother. Now she was surprised to find that she too 
had been young, had loved, and had pleasures and heart-pains 
of her own. This set her thinking. The process of thought 
was silent, but its conclusion found outward expression; 
the girl understood now. The secret of her life — ^the true 
secret was unveiled at last: 

“ Poor Aunt Judy. Oh, poor Aunt Judy ! ” 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 


157 

Athlyne’s letter reached him a day later, having been sent 
on from London. It was a fairly bulky one, with a good 
many sheets of foreign post, written hastily in a large bold 
hand. 

“ My Dear Friend : 

I have been, and am, much concerned about you. I 
gather from his letters that Colonel Ogilvie has been much 
disappointed at not having heard from you. And I want, 
if you will allow me to take the liberty, to speak to you 
seriously about it. You will give me this privilege I know — 
if only for the fact that I am an old maid; for the same 
Powers that made me an old maid have made me an old 
woman, and such is entitled, I take it, to forbearance, if 
not to respect. You should — ^you really should be more con- 
siderate towards Colonel Ogilvie. He is an old man — much 
older than you perhaps think, for he bears himself as 
proudly as in his younger days. But the claim on you is 
not merely from his years; that claim must appeal to all. 
From you there is one more imperative still, one which is 
personal and paramount : he is under so very deep an obliga- 
tion to you. A matter which from another would pass 
unconsidered as an act of thoughtfulness must now, when 
it is due to you, seem to him like a studied affront. I put 
it this way because I know you are a man of noble nature, 
and that generosity is to such even a stronger urge than 
duty — if such a thing be possible. In certain matters he 
is sensitive beyond belief. Even to a degree marked in a 
place where men still hold that their lives rest behind every 
word and deed, every thought or neglect towards another. 
I have some hesitation in mentioning this lest you should 
think L^ffT summoning Fear to the side of Duty. But you 
are above such a misunderstanding, I am sure. Oh my 
dear friend do think of some of the rest of us. You have 
saved the life of our darling Joy — the one creature in whom 
all our loves are centred. Naturally we all want to see 


LADY ATHLYNE 


158 

you again — to make much of you — to show you in our own 
poor way how deeply we hold you in our hearts. But 
if Colonel Ogilvie thinks himself insulted — ^that is how he 
regards any neglect however trivial — he acts on that belief, 
and there is no possible holding him back. He looks on it 
as a sacred duty to avenge affront. You must not blame 
him for it. In your peaceful English life you have I think 
no parallel to the ungovernable waves of passion that rage 
in the hearts of Kentuckians when they consider their hon- 
our is touched. Ah! we poor women know it who have 
to suffer in silence and wait and wait, and wait; and when 
the worst is made known to us, to seal up the founts of our 
grief and pretend that we too agree with the avenging of 
wrong. For it is our life to be silent in men’s quarrels. 
We are not given a part — any part. We are not supposed to 
even look on. It is another world from ours, and we have to 
accept it so. Please God may you never know what it is to 
be in or on the fringe of a Feud. Well I know its dread, its 
horror ! My own life that years ago was as bright and 
promising as any young life can be; when the Love that 
had dawned on my girlhood rose and beat with noonday 
heat on my young-womanhood made it seem as if heaven 
had come down to earth. And then the one moment of mis- 
understanding — ^the quick accusation — the quicker retort — 
and my poor heart lying crushed between the bodies of two 
men whom I loved each in his proper way. . . Think of 
what I say, if only on account of what I have suffered. 

‘‘ Forgive me ! But my anxiety lest any such blight 
should come across a young life that I love far far beyond 
my own is heavy on me. I have lost myself in sad thoughts 
of a bitter past. . . Indeed you must take it that my ear- 
nestness in this matter is shown in the lurid light of that 
past. I have been silent on it always. Never since the black 
cloud burst over me have I said a word to a soul — ^not to 
my sister — ^nor to Joy whom I adore and whose questioning 
to me of my ‘ love affair ’ — as they still call it when they 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 


159 

speak of it — is so sweet a tightening bond between us. I 
have only said to her : ^ and then he died/ and my heart 
has seemed to stop beating. Be patient with me and don’t 
blame me. You are a man and can be tolerant. Think not 
of me or any gloom of my life but only that makes me 
sadly, grimly, terribly in earnest when I see similar elements 
of tragedy drawing close to each other before my eyes. 
You may be inclined to laugh at me — though I know you 
will not — and to put down my thinking of possible great 
quarrels arising from such small causes as ‘ an old maid’s ’ 
fears. But when I have known the awful effect of a mere 
passing word, misunderstood to such disastrous result, no 
wonder that I have fears. It is due to that very cause 
that my fears are those of an old maid. I suppose I need 
not ask you to be sure to keep all this locked in your own 
breast. It is my secret; I have shared it with you because 
I deem such necessary for the happiness of — of others. I 
have kept it so close that not even those nearest and dearest 
to me have even suspected it. The rowdiness of spirit — 
as it seems to me — which other friends call fun and bright- 
ness and high spirits and other such insulting terms — has 
been my domino as I have passed through the hollow 
hearted carnival of life. Judge then how earnest I am 
when I put it aside and raise my mask for you a stranger 
whom I have seen but twice; I who even then was but an 
accessory — a super on the little stage where we began to act 
our little — comedy or tragedy which is it to be? 

‘‘ There ! I have opened to you my memory, not my 
heart. That you have no use for. After such a letter as 
this I shall not pretend to go back to the Proprieties, the 
Convenances. If I am right in my surmise — you can 
guess what that is or why have you written to the old 
rowdy aunt instead. . . there is every reason why I should 
be frank. But remember that I hold — and have hitherto held 
— what I believe to be your secret as sacredly as I hope 
you will hold mine. And if I am right — and from my 


i6o 


LADY ATHLYNE 


knowledge and insight won by past suffering I pray to God 
that I am — ^you have no time to lose to make matters right, 
and possibly to save the world one more sorrowful heart 
like my own. It is only a word that is wanted — a morning 
call — a visit of ceremony. Anything that Will keep open 
the doors of friendship which you unlocked by your own 
bravery. We are going in a day or two to Ambleside. In 
the meantime we shall be in London at Brown’s Hotel 
Albermarle Street where my sister, and incidentally myself, 
shall be glad to see you. . . . 

“ Won’t you let me have a line as soon as you can after 
you get this. I am torn with anxiety till I know what you 
intend to do about visiting Colonel Ogilvie. Again for- 
give me. 

Your true friend, 

Judy. 

“ P. S. — I shall not dare to read this over, lest when I had 
I should not have courage to send it. Accept it then 
with all its faults and be tolerant of them — and of me.” 

Athlyne read the letter through without making a pause 
or even an internal comment. That is how a letter should 
be read; to follow the writer’s mind, not one’s own, and 
so take in the sequence of thoughts and the general atmos- 
phere as well as the individual facts. As he read he felt 
deeply moved. There was in the letter that manifest sin- 
cerity which showed that it was straight from the heart. 
And heart speaks to heart, whatever may be the medium, 
if the purpose is sincere. It was a surprise to him to learn 
that Miss Judy’s high and volatile spirits rested on so sad 
a base. His appreciation of her worthiness came in his un- 
conscious resolution that when he and Joy were married 
Aunt Judy should be an honoured guest in the house, and 
that they would try to lighten, with what sympathy and 
kindness they could, the dark shadows of her life. 

He sat with the letter in his hand for some time. He 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 


i6i 


was sitting in the window of the hotel at Bowness looking 
out on the lake. It was still early and the life of the day 
had hardly begun. At Bowness the life was that of the 
tourists and visitors and it would still be an hour or more 
before they began to move out on their objectives. He 
had very many various and whirling thoughts, but su- 
preme amongst them was one: Time was flying. He must 
not delay, for every hour was more and more jeopardising 
his chance of winning the woman he loved. He realized to 
the full that his neglect of Colonel Ogilvie, for so it was 
being construed, was making — ^had made — a difficulty for 
him. Each day, perhaps each hour, was widening the 
breach ; if he did not take care he might end with the door 
permanently closed against him. As he came to the con- 
clusion of his reasoning he drew once more from his pocket 
the sealed letter to Colonel Ogilvie, and stood up. He 
fancied that his determination was made that he would see 
Colonel Ogilvie as soon as possible and broach the subject 
to him. As however he went towards the boat — for he 
was going to Ambleside by water — he postponed the inten- 
tion of an immediate interview. He would wait this one 
day and see what would turn up. If nothing happened 
likely to further his wishes he would whilst at Ambleside 
the next morning put the letter in the post. Then he would 
hold himself ready for the interview with Joy's father for 
which the letter asked. 

At Ambleside he took his place behind the lilacs in the 
garden and kept watch on the window where Joy was wont 
to appear. A little before breakfast-time she appeared there 
for a brief space, and then moved back into the room. 
He waited with what patience he could till nearly eleven 
o’clock when the same carriage which they used drove up 
to the door ; waiting became then an easier task. Presently 
Colonel Ogilvie came out and stood on the steps. Athlyne 
wondered; this was the first time that Joy had not been 
before him. Throwing his eyes around in vague wondering 


i 62 


LADY ATHLYNE 


as to the cause he saw Joy standing in the window dressed 
and pulling on her gloves. She was radiantly beautiful. 
Her colour was a little heightened and her lovely grey eyes 
shone like stars. Her gaze was fixed so that her eyes 
seemed to look straight before her but beyond him. The 
look made him quiver as though he felt it were directed at 
him, and his knees began to tremble with a mighty, vague 
longing. For quite a minute she stood there, till her eyes 
falling she caught sight of her father standing by the 
carriage below. She drew back quickly and almost im- 
mediately appeared at the hall-door, saying : 

** I am so sorry, Daddy. I hope I did not keep you 
waiting too long!” 

“Not a bit little girl. It is a pleasure to me to wait for 
you; to do anything for you, my dear. Whatever else is 
the use of being a father.” 

“ You dear I May we go to-day up the mountain road 
where we can look over the lake. I want you to have a 
nice glimpse of it again before you go.” 

Here Athlyne’s heart sank for an instant. This was the 
first idea he had of any intention of moving, and it actually 
shook him. Joy had as usual a handful of sugar for the 
horses. She went to the off side horse first and gave him 
his share. Then when she stood at the head of the other, 
her face toward the lilacs, she turned to her father and 
said in a low, thrilling tone: 

“Daddy, am I nice to-day? Look at me!^^ She stood 
still whilst the old man looked at her admiringly, proudly, 
fondly. 

“ You are peerless, little girl. Peerless ! that’s it ! ” She 
was evidently pleased at the compliment, for her colour 
rose to a deep flush. Her grey eyes shone through it like 
two great grey suns. Whilst her father was speaking to 
the coachman she gave the other horse, now impatient, 
his share of the sugar and stood looking across the road. 
Athlyne could hardly contain himself. The few seconds. 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 


163 

although flying so fast, were momentous. Past and present 
rushed together to the creation of a moment of ecstasy. 
The sound of the words swept him ; the idea and all it re- 
woke and intensified, transfigured his very soul. And then 
he heard her say in a low, languorous voice which vibrated : 

Thank you Daddy for such a sweet compliment. I am 
glad I said * Look at me!’” As she spoke it seemed to 
Athlyne that her eyes fixed across the road sent their 
lightnings straight into his heart. And yet it did not even 
occur to him at the moment that the words could have been 
addressed to him. 

During the drive Joy kept her father interested in all 
around them. He saw that she was elated and happy, and 
it made his heart glad to that receptive mood which is the 
recrudescence of youth. In the girl’s mind to-day several 
trains of thought, all of them parental of action, went on 
together. She did not analyze them ; indeed she was hardly 
conscious of them. The mechanism of mind was working 
to a set purpose, but one which was temperamental rather 
than intentional — of sex and individual character rather 
than of a studied conclusion. For that morning was to her 
momentous. She knew it with all her instincts. Uncon- 
sciously she drew conclusions from facts without waiting 
to develop their logical sequence. 

A telegram had arrived from Mrs. Ogilvie saying that 
she and Judy were now ready to leave London and, as her 
husband had said that he wished to escort them to Amble- 
side, they would be prepared on his coming to leave on the 
next morning or whatever later time he might fix. After a 
glance at the time-table he had wired back that he would 
go up on that night, and that they would all start on 
the following morning. Joy had offered to accompany 
him, but he would not have it : ‘‘ No, little girl,” he 

said. “Travel at night is all very well for men; but it 
takes it out of women. I want your mother to see the 
bright, red-cheeked girl that has been with me for the last 


LADY ATHLYNE 


164 

week, and not a pale, worn-out draggled young woman 
with her eyes heavy with weariness. You stay here, my dear, 
and get plenty of air and sunshine. You will not be afraid 
to be here alone with your maid ! ” Joy smiled : 

“ Not a bit. Daddy ! I shall walk and drive all day and 
perhaps go down the Lake in a boat. If I do the latter I 
shall take Eugenie with me and we shall lunch down at 
Newby Bridge. We shall be home here in good time to 
drive over and meet you all at the station at Windmere.” 

From that moment Joy hardly left her father out of her 
sight. Instinctively she knew that the chance of her life had 
come. She had a conviction — it was more than a mere 
idea or even a belief — that if she were alone whilst her 
father was up in London or on the way down, that figure 
which even now was hidden by the lilacs would abandon 
secretive ways and come out into the open where she could 
see him close, and hear the sound of his voice — that voice 
whose every note made music in her ears. It was the pres- 
ence of her father which kept him hidden. It was impera- 
tive, both in accordance with his wishes as well as from 
her own apprehensions of what might happen if they should 
meet unexpectedly before she had time to warn him, that 
no mischance should prevent an early meeting, free from 
any suspicion between herself and Mr. Hardy. When 
Daddy was well on his way. . . . Here she would close 

her eyes ; definite thought was lost in a languorous ecstasy. 
The coming day would mean to her everything or. . . . 

The drive was a fairly long one and they did not get back 
till nearly one o’clock. Colonel Ogilvie had said to Joy: 

“ I shall have a good time to-day, have plenty of fresh 
air and be ready for sleep when I get into the train. As 
I shall arrive early in the morning I shall have time to 
express my opinions on their conduct to those automobile 
people. They won’t expect my coming and be able to get 
out of the way. I fancy it will do me good to say what 
I feel ; or at any rate enough to give them some indication 


ECHO OF A TRAGEDY 165 

of what I could say, and shall say if there is any further 
delay in the matter.” 

When they arrived Joy went at once into the hotel leaving 
her father to tell the coachman at what hour to be ready 
for the afternoon drive. She went straight to the window 
and, keeping as usual behind the curtain, looked over at 
the lilac bushes. She could see through the foliage that 
there was some one there, and that satisfied her. She would 
have liked to have instructed the driver herself so that she 
would have been sure that he knew; but on this occasion 
a wave of diffidence suddenly overwhelmed her. Times 
were coming when she would not be able to afford the 
luxury of such an emotion, so she grasped it whilst she 
could. 

Colonel Ogilvie was to catch the train from Winder- 
mere at nine o’clock, so the second drive should come after 
lunch and not after tea; and when she was in her own 
room, Joy feared that He might miss them. When, how- 
ever, before going downstairs she looked out of the window 
she saw that he was still at his post. Athlyne’s campaign- 
ing experience had had its own psychology. Seeing that 
there was some change in the Ogilvie day he had arranged 
his own plans to meet it. Whilst they had been taking 
their morning drive he had provided himself with some 
sandwiches; he had determined not to leave his post until 
he knew more. Joy’s words had all day rung in his ears, 
and he was now and again distracted with doubts. Was 
it possible that there had been any meaning or intention 
in her words more than was apparent? Was the spon- 
taneity consequent on some deep feeling which evoked 
memory? Could he believe that she really. . . . He 

would wait now before sending the letter, whatever came. 
In that he was adamant. 

During the drive Joy was mainly silent. It was not the 
silence of thought ; it was simply spiritual quiescence. She 
knew that the rest of the day was so laid out that it was 


LADY ATHLYNE 


1 66 

unlikely it could be marred by an untoward accident. There 
was this in His persistent waiting that she had come to trust 
it. There was some intention, so manifest, though what 
it was was unknown to her, that it was hardly to be dis- 
turbed by any sudden exigency. She lived at the moment 
in a world of calm, a dream-world of infinite happiness. 
Now and again she woke to the presence of her father and 
then poured on him in every way in which a young woman 
can all the treasures of her thought and affection. This 
made the old man so happy that he too was content to re- 
main silent when she ceased to speak. 

When they got back to the hotel, she spoke to the driver : 

“ You will be here at eight o’clock please, as you will 
have to drive Colonel Ogilvie to the station at Windermere 
in good time to catch the nine o’clock train. I shall not 
want you in the morning as I intend to take a walk; but 
you must be at Windermere to meet my father at five 
o’clock. If to-morrow afternoon there is any change in his 
plans he will wire the hotel people and they will let you 
know. Perhaps you had better call here on your way to 
Windermere as I may go over in the carriage. But if I am 
not here do not wait for me; I may possibly walk over. 
When you have left Colonel Ogilvie at Windermere to-night 
you will have to leave me back here. I am going to the 
depot with him.” 

Then she went into the doorway, and hurried to the 
sitting-room where she looked out into the garden — where 
the lilacs grew. 


CHAPTER XIII 


INSTINCTIVE PLANNING 

Man^s unconscious action is a strange thing. Athlyne 
had just heard words which took from him a strain under 
which he had suffered for a whole week of waiting and 
watching; words which promised him the opportunity for 
which he had longed for many weeks. His nerves had been 
strung to tension so high that now it would seem only 
natural if the relief sent him into a sort of delirium. But 
he quietly lit a cigar, taking care that it was properly cut 
and properly lit, and smoked luxuriously as he moved across 
the garden and into the street. Joy from her window saw 
him go, and her admiration of his ease and self possession 
and magnificent self-reliance sent fresh thrills through her 
flesh. 

When Athlyne went out of the garden he had evidently 
made up his mind, consciously or unconsciously, to some 
other point in connection with the motor for he visited such 
shops as were open and made some purchases — caps, veils, 
cloaks and such like gear suitable for the use of a tall 
young lady. These he took with him in a hired carriage 
to the hotel at Bowness, where he added them to certain 
others already sent from London. Then he told the chauf- 
feur to give the car a careful overhauling so that it be in 
perfect order, and went for a stroll up the Lake. 

Shortly he was in a mental and physical tumult; the 
period which had elapsed since he heard the news of Colonel 
Ogilvie’s coming departure had been but the prelude to the 
storm. At first he could not think; he had no words, no 
sequence of ideas, not even vague intentions. He had only 
sensations; and these though they moved and concentrated 

167 


i68 


LADY ATHLYNE 


every nerve in his body were without even physical purpose. 
He went like one in a dream. But in the background of 
his mind was a fact which stood out firm and solid like the 
profile of a mountain seen against the glow of a western 
sunset. Joy would be alone to-morrow; the opportunity 
he waited for was at last at hand ! The recognition of this 
seemed to pull him together, to set all his faculties working 
simultaneously; and as each had a different method the 
tumult was in reducing them to unison — in achieving one 
resultant from all the varying forces. Gradually out of 
the chaos came the first clear intent : he must so master the 
whole subject that when the opportunity had come he should 
be able to avail himself of it to the full. From this he pro- 
ceeded to weigh the various possibilities, till gradually /he 
began to realise what vague purpose had been behind his 
wish to have his automobile in perfect working order. It 
did not even occur to him that with such machinery at his 
command he might try to carry her off, either without her 
consent or with it. All that he wanted in the first instance 
was to have fitting opportunity of discovering how Joy 
regarded him. The last twenty-four hours had opened to 
his mind such glorious possibilities that every word she 
had said, every look on her eloquent face (though such looks 
had manifestly not been intended for him) had a place in 
a chain which linked her heart to his. “ Look at me ! 

“ I am glad I asked you to look at me ! though, spoken to 
her father seemed to have another significance. It was 
as though an eager thought had at last found expression. 
‘‘ Good night ! Good night, beloved ! ” though ostensibly 
spoken to the twilight was breathed with such fervour, with 
such languishing eyes and with such soft pouting of scarlet 
lips that it seemed impossible that it should have other 
than a human objective. These thoughts swept the man 
into a glow of passion. He was young and strong and 
ardent, and he loved the woman with all his heart ; with all 
his soul; with all the strength of human passion. It is a 


INSTINCTIVE PLANNING 169 

mistake to suppose — as some abstract thinkers seem to do 
always, and most people at some moment of purely spiritual 
exaltation — that the love of a man and a woman each for 
the other is, even at its very highest, devoid of physical 
emotion. The original Creator did not manifestly so in- 
tend. The world of thought is an abstract world whose 
inner shrine is where soul meets soul. The world of life 
is the world of the heart, and its beating is the sway of the 
pendulum between soul and flesh. The world of flesh is the 
real world; wrought of physical atoms in whose recurrent 
groupings is the elaborated scheme of nature. Into this 
world has been placed Man to live and rule. To this end 
his body is fixed with various powers and complications 
and endurances; with weaknesses and impulses and yield- 
ings; with passions to animate, with desires to attract, and 
animosities to repel. And as the final crowning of this 
wondrous work, the last and final touch of the Creator’s 
hand, Sex for the eternal renewing of established forces. 
How can souls be drawn to souls when such are centred in 
bodies which mutually repel? How can the heart quicken 
its beats when it may not come near enough to hear the 
answering throb? No! If physical attraction be not 
somewhere, naught can develop. Judy, the outspoken, had 
once almost horrified a little group of matrons who were 
discussing the interest which a certain young cleric was 
beginning to take in one of the young female parishioners. 
When one of them said, somewhat sanctimoniously, that his 
interest was only in the salvation of her immortal soul, that 
he was too good a man to ever think of falling in love as 
ordinary men do, the vivacious old maid replied : 

‘‘ Not a bit of it, my dear ! When a man troubles him- 
self about an individual young woman’s soul you may be 
quite certain that his eyes have not neglected her body. 
And moreover you will generally, if not always^ find that 
she has a pair of curving red lips, or a fine bust, or a 
well-developed figure somewhere ! ” 


170 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Athlyne loved Joy in all ways, so that the best of his 
nature regulated the standard of his thoughts. His love 
was no passing fancy which might or might not develop, 
flame up, and fade away. He had, he felt, found the other 
half of him, lost in the primeval chaos; and he wanted the 
union to be so complete that it would outlive the clashing of 
worlds in the final cataclysm. Healthy people are healthy 
in their loves and even in their passions. These two young 
people were both healthy, both red-blooded, both of ardent, 
passionate nature; and they were drawn together each to 
each by all the powers that rule sex and character. To say 
that their love was all of earth would be as absurd as to say 
that it was all of heaven. It was human, all human, and all 
that such implies. Heaven and earth had both their parts 
in the combination ; and perhaps, since both were of strong 
nature and marked individuality, Hell had its due share in 
the amalgam. 

Athlyne thought, and thought, and thought ; till the length 
of his own shadow recalled the passing of time. He post- 
poned the thinking over his plans for to-morrow — the active 
part of them, and hastened back to his place behind the 
lilacs. 

He was just in time. The carriage stood at the door 
with Colonel Ogilvie’s “ grip-sack ’’ at the driver’s feet. 
Then the Boots ran down the steps and held the carriage 
door open. Joy came holding her father’s arm. They got 
into the carriage and drove away. Athlyne waited, sitting 
on the seat on the grass lawn smoking luxuriously. He 
forgot that he was hungry and thirsty, forgot everything 
except that he would before long see Joy again, this time 
alone. His thoughts were evidently pleasant, for the time 
flew fast. Indeed he must have been in something like a 
waking dream which absorbed all his faculties for he did 
not notice the flight of time at all. It was only when, re- 
called to himself by the passing of a carriage, he looked 
up and saw Joy that he came back to reality. To his dis- 


INSTINCTIVE PLANNING 


171 

appointment her head was turned away. When within 
sight of the garden, she had noticed him and as she did not 
wish him, just yet, to know that she knew of his presence, 
she found her eyes fixed on the other side of the street. It 
was the easiest and most certain way of avoiding com- 
plexities. He slipped over to the lilacs to see her alight. 
When she had done so she turned to the coachman and 
said: 

‘‘ You understand I shall not want you in the morning as 
I shall be out walking; but if I don’t send for you in the 
afternoon, or if you don’t get any message you will meet my 
father at Windermere station at a quarter to five.” 

She went to the front of the carriage and stroked the 
horses’ noses and necks after her usual fashion. He had 
as good a view of her profile as the twilight would allow. 
Then with a pleasant “ Good evening ! ” to the coachman 
she tripped up the steps and disappeared. For more than a 
quarter of an hour Athlyne watched the windows; but she 
did not appear. This was natural enough, for she was be- 
hind the curtains peeping out to see if he went back to his 
seat on the lawn. 

When she saw that he did not return Joy, with a gentle 
sigh, went to her room. 

That sigh meant a lot. It was the reaction from an in- 
ward struggle. All day she had been suffering from the 
dominance of two opposing ideas, between which her inward 
natured swayed pendulum-wise. This inward nature ” 
comprised her mind, her reason, her intelligence, her fears, 
her hopes, her desires — the whole mechanism and parapher- 
nalia of her emotional and speculative psychology. She 
would fain have gone out boldly into the garden and there 
met Mr. Hardy face to face — of course by pure accident. 
But this vague intention was combated by a maiden fear; 
one of those delicious, conscious apprehensions made to be 
combated unless thoroughly supported by collateral forces; 
one of those gentle fears of sex which makes yielding so 


LADY ATHLYNE 


172 

sweet. Following this came the fixed intention of that walk 
to be taken in the morning. The morning was still far off 
and its apprehensive possibilities were not very dreadful. In- 
deed she did not really fear them at all for she had privately 
made up her mind that, fear or no fear, she was going on 
that walk. The only point left open was its direction. The 
hour was positively settled; an hour earlier than that at 
which for the past few days she had driven out with Daddy ! 
Even to herself she would not admit that her choice of time 
was in any way controlled or influenced by the fact that it 
was the same hour about which Mr. Hardy made his ap- 
pearance in the garden. 

But all the same her thoughts and her intentions were 
becoming conscious. For good or evil she was getting 
more reckless in her desires; passion was becoming domi- 
nant — and she knew it. 

This is perhaps the most dangerous phase of a woman’s 
trial. She knows that there is at work a growing desire 
for self-surrender which it is her duty to combat. She 
knows that all contra reasons which can be produced will 
be — ^must be — overcome. She knows with all the subtle in- 
stincts of her sex that she is deliberately setting her feet 
on a slope down which some impulse, perhaps but moment- 
ary, will carry her with resistless force. It is the prepara- 
tory struggle to defeat; the clearing away of difficulties 
which might later be hampering or even obstructive; the 
clamant wish for defeat which makes for the conquered the 
satisfaction if not the happiness of finality. To all children 
of Adam, of either sex, this phase may come. To the 
strongest and most resolute warrior must be a moment when 
he can no more ; when the last blow has been struck and the 
calling of another world is ringing in his ears; to the 
resolute amongst men this moment is the moment of death. 
To women it is surrender of self; surrender to the embrace 
of Death — or to the embrace of Love. It is the true end 
of the battle. The rest is but the carrying out of the 


INSTINCTIVE PLANNING 


173 

Treaty of Peace, the Triumph of the Victory in which she 
is now proud to have a part — if it be only that of captive! 

There was no sleep for Joy that night. She heard the 
hours strike one after the other, never missing one. She 
was not restless. She lay still, and quiet, and calm ; patient 
with that patience which is an acceptance that what is to 
come is good. In all the long vigil she never faltered in 
her intention to take that walk in the forenoon. What was 
to happen in it she did not guess. She had a conviction 
that that tall figure would follow her discreetly; and that 
when she was alone they would somehow meet. It might 
be that she would hear his voice before she saw him; that 
was most likely, indeed almost certain, for she would not 
turn till he had spoken ... or at any rate till she knew that 
he was close behind her. . . . Here her thoughts would 
stop. She would lie in a sort of ecstasy . . . whatever 
might come after that would be happiness. She would see 
Him . . . look into His eyes. . . . ‘‘ Look at me, Joy ! ” 
seemed to sound in her ears in sweet low music like a 
whisper. Then she would close her eyes and lie motionless, 
passive, breathing as gently as a child; high-strung, con- 
scious, awake and devoid of any definite intent. 

When she was dressing for the day she put on one of the 
simplest and prettiest of her dresses, one which she had 
directed over night to be got ready ; a sort of heavy gauze 
of dull white which fell in long full folds showing her tall 
slim figure to its perfect grace. Her maid who was a some- 
what silent person, not given to volubility unless encour- 
aged, looked at her admiringly as she said: 

“ I do think miss that is the most becoming of all your 
frocks ! This pleased her and sent a red glow through 
her cheeks. Then, fearing if she seemed to think too much 
of the matter it might seem suspicious as to some purpose, 
she said quietly: 

“ Perhaps then it would be better if I put on one of the 
lawn dresses. I am going for a walk this morning and as 


174 LADY ATHLYNE 

it may be dusty a frock that will not catch the dust may be 
better.” 

It does seem a pity miss to wear such a pretty frock 
and spoil it when there is no one here to see it; not even 
your father.” This gave Joy an opening of which she 
quickly availed herself. She had not the least intention of 
changing the frock or of looking, if she could avoid it, one 
whit below her best. 

“ Fie, Eugenie ! one doesn’t put on frocks to attract. If 
you think that way, I shall wear it; even if it is to get 
dusty.” The Abigail who was a privileged person answered 
gravely : 

‘‘ That’s quite true, Miss, exactly as you say it. One 
doesn’t put on nice frocks to attract; and that one is your- 
self. But all the rest do! ” Joy’s merry laugh showed the 
measure of her ebullient happiness. 

“Dear me! Eugenie. You are quite an orthoepist — in- 
deed a precisionist. I shall have to polish up my grammar. 
However I’ll keep on the frock if only in compliment to 
your sense of terminological exactitude ! ” 

A little after breakfast, when the time for starting on the 
walk drew nigh, Joy did not feel so elated. Woman-like she 
was not anxious to begin. It was not that she in any way 
faltered in her purpose, but merely that she was suffering 
from the nervousness which comes to those of high strung 
temperaments in momentous crises. Humming merrily she 
put on her hat and finished her toilet for her walk. In the 
sitting room from the shelter of the curtain she looked out 
of the window, as she tried to think, casually. Her eyes 
turned towards the lilac bushes, but caught no indication of 
the tall figure that she sought. Her heart fell. But a sec- 
ond later it leaped almost painfully as she saw Mr. Hardy 
sitting out openly on the seat, and strange to say — for she 
had come to identify that seat with the practice — not smok- 
ing. He evidently had no present thought of being con- 
cealed. Why? The answer to her own question came in a 


INSTINCTIVE PLANNING 175 

rush of blood to her face, a rush so quick and thorough 
that it seemed for the moment to deplete her heart which 
beat but faintly. . . When she looked again he had risen 
and was moving toward the lilacs. 

Without a word she walked downstairs and out through 
the hall-door. 

Athlyne had not slept either that night. But the manner 
and range of his thoughts showed the difference between 
the sexes. Both his imagining and his reasoning were to 
practical purpose. He wanted to see Joy, to speak with 
her, to prove to himself if his hoping was in any way justi- 
fied by fact. He had for so long been concentrating his 
thoughts on one subject that doubts at first shadowy had 
become real. It seemed therefore to him that in his plan- 
ning for the morrow he was dealihg with real things, not 
imaginative ones. And, after all, there is nothing more 
real than doubt — so far as it goes. Victor Cousin took 
from its reality his subtlest argument for belief : “ At this 
point scepticism itself vanishes; for if a man doubt every- 
thing else, at least he cannot doubt that he doubts.'' So 
with Athlyne. By accepting doubt as reality he began the 
experiment for its cure. 

In the silence of the night, with nerves high-strung 
and with brain excited he tried in those most earnest hours 
of his life, when for good or ill he was to organise his 
intellectual forces, to arrange matters so that at the earliest 
time he might with certainty learn his fate. He had an 
idea that in such a meeting as was before him he must 
not be over-precipitated. And yet he must not check impul- 
siveness as long as its trend was in the right direction. He 
knew that a woman's heart is oftener won by assault than 
by siege. For himself he had plenty of patience as well as 
a sufficiency of spirit ; his task at present therefore was one 
of generalship alone : the laying out of the battle plans, the 
disposition of his forces. As he thought, and as his ideas 


LADY ATHLYNE 


176 

and his intentions came into order, he began to understand 
better the purpose of those two preparations of his which 
were already complete: the overhauling of his automobile, 
and the supplying it with female wraps. He intended by 
some means or other, dependent on developing opportu- 
nity, to bring her for a ride in the motor. There, all alone, 
he would be able to learn, perhaps at first from her bearing 
and then from her own lips, how she regarded him. 

Athlyne was a young man, a very young man in his real 
knowledge of the sex. There are hundreds, thousands, of 
half-pulseless boys, flabby of flesh and pallid with ener- 
vating dissipation, who would have smiled cynically — they 
have not left in them grit enough for laughter — at his 
doubting. 

He would not frighten her at first. Here for a time he 
took himself to task for seeming to plot against the woman 
he loved. Surely it would be better to treat her with 
perfect fairness; to lay his heart at her feet; tell her with 
all the passionate force that swept him how he loved her — 
tell it with what utterance he had. Then he should wait 
her decision. No, not decision ! That was too cold a word 
— thought. If indeed there was any answering love to his, 
little decision would be required. Had he made any deci- 
sion ! From the first moment he had looked in her beautiful 
grey eyes and lost himself in their depths, his very soul 
had gone out to her. And it might be that she too had 
felt something of the same self-abandonment. He could 
never forget how on that afternoon visit at the Holland 
she had raised her eyes to his in answer to his passionate 
appeal : “ Joy, Look at me ! ” Then at that memory, and 
at the later memory when she had spoken the words herself 
only the day before — the sweetness of her voice was still 
tingling in his ears, a sort of tidal wave of lover’s rapture 
swept over him. It overwhelmed him so completely that 
it left him physically gasping for breath. He was in a 
tumult; he could not lie in bed. He leaped to his feet and 


INSTINCTIVE PLANNING 


177 


walked to and fro with long, passionate strides. He threw 
up the lower sash of the window and looked out into the 
moonlight, craning his neck round to the right so that his 
eyes were in the direction of Ambleside as though the very 
ardour of his gaze could pierce through distance and stone 
walls and compel Joy’s white eyelids to raise so that he 
might once more lose himself in those grey deeps wherein 
his soul alone found peace. 

In this passion of adoration all his doubts seemed to 
disappear, as the sun drinks up the mist. He felt as though 
uplifted. At the very idea of Joy’s loving him as he loved 
her he felt more worthy, more strong, and with a sense 
of triumph which had no parallel in his life. He stood 
looking out at the beauty of the scene before him, till 
gradually it became merged in his thoughts with Joy and 
his hopes which the morrow might realise. He never knew 
exactly how long he stood there. It must have been a long 
time, for when he realised any sense of time at all he 
was cramped and chill; and the forerunner of the morning 
light coming from far away behind him was articulating 
the fields on the hill-slopes across the lake. 

He was then calm. All the thinking and reasoning and 
planning and passion of the night had been wrought into 
unity. His mind was made up as to the first stage of his 
undertaking. He would bring the car to Ambleside and 
leave it with the chauffeur outside the town. Then he 
would take his place in the garden and wait till she came 
out for that walk of which she had told her father. He 
would cautiously follow her; and when there was a fair 
opportunity for uninterrupted speech would come to her. 
If he found there was no change in her manner to him — 
and here once again the memory of those lifting eyes 
made him tremble — he would try to get her to come for a 
ride in his car. There, wrapped in the glory of motion 
and surrounded by all the grandeur of natural beauty, he 
would pour out his soul to her and put his fate to the 


178 LADY ATHLYNE 

touch. Then if all were well he would send on the letter 
to her father and would pay his formal visit as soon as 
might be. He would take care to have ready a luncheon 
basket so that if she would ride with him they mi'ght have 
together an ethereal banquet. 

It is strange that even those who are habitually cautious, 
whose thoughts and deeds alike are compelled and ruled 
by reason, will in times of exaltation forget their guiding 
principle. They will refuse to acknowledge the existence 
of chance ; and will proceed calmly on their way as though 
life was as a simple cord, with Inclination pulling at one 
end of it and Fact yielding at the other. 


CHAPTER XIV 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS 

On this occasion Athlyne did not continue to sit out on the 
lawn. Now that he wished to overtake Joy unawares he 
was as careful to hide his presence from her as he had 
previously hidden it from her father. He had hardly 
ensconced himself in his usual cover when Joy came out 
on the steps. Her maid was with her and together they 
stood on the steps speaking. As she turned to come down 
the steps Joy said: 

“ Perhaps I had better arrange to come back after a short 
walk; there might be some telegram from father to be 
attended to. If there is not, I can then go for a real, long 
walk.” She did not say more but moved briskly down the 
roadway without ever turning her head. Athlyne slipped 
through the gate of the garden, following at such distance 
that he could easily keep out of view in case she should 
turn. When she had cleared the straggling houses which 
made the outskirts of the little town she walked slowly, 
and then more slowly still. Finally she sat on a low wall 
by the roadside with her back partially turned to Ambleside 
and looked long at the beautiful view before her where, 
between the patches of trees which here shut out the houses 
altogether and heightened the air of privacy of the bye 
road, the mountain slopes rose before her. 

This was the opportunity for which Athlyne was waiting. 
He had hardly dared to hope that it woud be in a spot so 
well adapted to his wishes. Dear simple soul! he never 
imagined that it had been already chosen — marked down 
by a keener intellect than his own, and that intellect a 
woman’s ! 

Joy knew that he was coming; that he was drawing 
179 


i8o 


LADY ATHLYNE 


closer; that he was at hand. It was not needed that she 
had now and again thrown a half glance behind her at 
favourable moments as she went. There was at work a 
subtler sense than any dealing with mere optics; a sense 
that can float on ether waves as surely as can any other 
potent force. Nay, may it not be the same sense special- 
ised. The sense that makes soul known to soul, sex to sex ; 
that tells of the presence of danger ; that calls kind to kind, 
and race to race, from the highest of creation to the lowest. 
And so she was prepared and waited, calm after the manner 
of her sex. For when woman waits for the coming of man 
her whole being is in suspense. Though in secret her heart 
beat painfully Joy did not look round, made no movement 
till the spoken words reached her: 

“ Miss Ogilvie is it not ! ” 

Slowly she turned, as to a voice but partly heard or partly 
remembered. Athlyne felt his heart sink down, down 
as he saw the slowness of the movement and realised the 
absence of that quick response which he had by long and 
continuous thinking since last night encouraged himself 
to expect. The quick gleam of pleasure in the face as she 
turned, the light in her marvellous grey eyes, the gentle 
blush which despite herself passed like an Alpenglow from 
forehead to neck did not altogether restore his equanimity 
or even encourage him sufficiently to try to regain that 
pinnacle of complacent hope on which up to then he had 
stood. 

“ Why Mr. Hardy,’’ she said warmly as she rose quickly 
to her feet. This is real nice. I was afraid we were not 
going to see you whilst we were in England.” 

It was beautifully done; no wonder that some women 
can on the stage carry a whole audience with them, when 
off it so many can deceive intellects more powerful than 
their own. And yet it was not all acting. She did not 
intend it as such; not for a moment did she wish or intend 
to deceive. It was only the habit of obedience to con- 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS i8i 

vention which was guiding natural impulse into safe chan- 
nels. For who shall say where nature — the raw, primeval 
crude article — ends or where convention, which is the art- 
fulness necessitated by the eaboration of organised society, 
begins. A man well known in New York used to say: 
“ All men are equal after the fish ! ” Kipling put the same 
idea in another way: . . . “the Colonel’s Lady an’ 

Judy O’Grady are sisters under their skins ! ” 

When Athlyne looked into Joy’s eyes — and there was 
full opportunity for so doing — all his intentions of reserve 
went from him. He was lover all over; nothing but lover, 
with wild desire to be one with her he loved. His eyes 
began to glow, his knees to tremble, then every muscle of 
his body became braced; and when he spoke his voice at 
once deepened and had a masterful ring which seemed to 
draw Joy’s very soul out towards him. Well it was for 
her main purpose that her instinct had given that first 
chill of self-possession; had the man been able to go on 
from where he had first started nothing that she knew of 
reserve or self-restraint could have prevented her from 
throwing herself straightway into his arms. Had Athlyne 
not begun with that same chill, which to him took the 
measure of a repulse, he would have caught her to him 
with all the passions of many kinds which were beginning 
to surge in him. 

But what neither of them could effect alone, together 
they did. The pause of the fraction of a second in the 
springing of their passion made further restraint possible. 
There is no fly-wheel in the mechanism of humanity to 
carry the movement of the crank beyond its level. Such 
machinery was not invented at the time of the organisation 
of Eden. 

“ I have longed for this moment more than I can say ; 
more than words can tell ! ” His voice vibrated with the 
very intensity of his truth. Joy’s eyes, despite her efforts 
to keep them fixed, fell. Her bosom rose and fell quickly 


LADY ATHLYNE 


182 

and heavily with the stress of her breathing. Her knees 
trembled and a slow pallor took the place of the flush on 
her face. Seemingly unconsciously she murmured so 
faintly that only a lover’s ear could hear or follow it: 

“ I have longed for it too — oh so much ! ” The words 
dropped from her lips like faint music. Instinctively she 
put her hand on the wall beside her to steady herself; she 
feared she was going to faint. 

Athlyne, seeing and hearing, thrilled through to the very 
marrow of his bones. His great love controlled, compelled 
him. He made no movement towards her but looked with 
eyes of rapture. Such a moment was beyond personal 
satisfaction; it was of the gods, not of men. And so they 
stood. 

Then the tears welled over in Joy’s eyes beneath the 
fallen lids. They hung on the dark, curly lashes and rolled 
like silver beads down the softness of her cheeks. Still 
Athlyne made no sign; he felt that the time had not yet 
come. The woman was his own now, he felt instinctively ; 
and it was his duty — his sacred privilege to protect her. 
Unthinkingly he moved a step back on the road he had 
come. Instinctively Joy did the same. It was without 
thought or intention on the part of either; all instinctive, 
all natural. The usage of the primeval squaw to follow 
her master outlives races. 

Then he paused. She came up to him and they walked 
level. Not another word had been spoken; but there are 
silences that speak more than can be written in ponderous 
tomes. These two — this man and this woman — knew. 
They had in their hearts in those glorious moments all the 
wisdom won by joy and suffering through all the countless 
ages since the Lord rested on that first Sabbath eve and 
felt that His finished work was good. 

When, keeping even step, they had taken a few quiet 
paces, Athlyne spoke in a soft whisper that thrilled: 

‘‘ Joy, look at me ! ” 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS 183 

Without question or doubt of any kind she raised her 
shining eyes to his. And then, slowly and together as 
though in obedience to some divine command, their lips 
met in a long, loving kiss in which their very souls went 
out each to the other. 

When their mouths parted, with a mutual sigh, each 
gave a quick glance up and down the road; neither had 
thought of it before. 

The tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil did not 
die in Eden bower. It flourishes still in even the most 
unlikely places all the wide world over. And they who 
taste its fruit must look with newly-opened eyes on the 
world around them. 

Together, still keeping step, not holding each other, not 
touching except by the chance of movement, they walked 
to where the bye-road joined the main one. As yet they 
had spoken between them less than threescore words. 
They wondered later in the day when they talked together 
how so much as they had thought and felt and conveyed 
had been packed into such compass. Now, as they paused 
at the joining of the roads, Athlyne said — and strange to 
say it was in an ordinary commonplace voice : 

*‘Joy won't you come with me for a ride. I have my 
motor here, and we can go alone. There is much I want 
to say to you — much to tell you, and the speed will help 
us. I want to rush along — to fly. Earth is too prosaic for 
me — now I” Joy looking softly up caught the lightning 
that flashed from his eyes, and her own fell. A tide of red 
swept her face; this passed in a moment, however, leaving 
a divine pink like summer sunset on snowy heights. Her 
voice was low and thrilling as she answered with eyes still 
cast down. 

“ ril go with you where you will — to the end of the 
world — or Heaven or Hell if you wish — now ! ” 

And then as if compelled by a force beyond control she 
raised her eyes to his. 


184 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“ Shall you come with me to the car ; or shall I bring it 
to the hotel ? ” He spoke once more in something like his 
prdinary voice. 

“ Neither ! ” she answered with her eyes still fixed on 
his unflinchingly. He felt their witchery run through him 
like fire now ; his blood seemed to boil as it rushed through 
his veins. Love and passion were awake and at one. 

“ I must go back to see if there is any wire from Daddy, 
and to leave word that I am going for a drive. I shall 
tell my maid that I shall return in good time. Father and 
Mother and Aunt Judy are to arrive at Windermere at 
five o'clock uness we hear to the contrary. You bring up 
the motor to-Ao there where we met." Her eyes burned 
through him as without taking them from his she raised 
an arm and pointed gracefully up the bye-road, towards 
where they had sat. 

Don't come with me," she said as he moved with her. 
“ It will be sweeter to keep our secret to ourselves." 

And so, he raising his cap as he stood aside, she passed 
on after sending one flashing look of love right through 
him. 

At the hotel she found a wire from her father to the 
effect that they would not be able to leave Euston at 11.30 
as intended but that they hoped to reach Windermere at 
7.05. This pleased her, for it gave her another two hours 
for that motor drive to which she looked forward with 
beating heart. She told her maid that she would be out till 
late in the afternoon as she was going motoring with a 
friend; and that she, Eugenie, could please herself as to 
how she would pass the time. When the maid asked her 
what she wished as to lunch she answered: 

“ I shall not want any lunch ; but if we feel hungry we 
can easily get some on the way." 

“ Which way shall you be going, Miss, in case any one 
should ask." 

“ I really don't know Eugenie. I just said I would join 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS 185 

in the drive. I daresay it is up somewhere amongst the 
lakes. That is where the fine scenery is.” 

“And what about wraps, miss? You will want some- 
thing warm for motoring. That dress you have on is 
rather thin for the purpose.” 

“ Oh dear ; oh dear ! ” she answered with chagrin. “ This 
will do well enough, I think. We shall not, I expect, be 
going very far. If I find I want a wrap I can borrow one.” 
And off she set for the rendezvous. 

In the meantime Athlyne had found the car, and had 
given instructions to the chauffeur to remain at an inn 
at Ambleside which he had already noted for the purpose 
and where a telegram would find him in case it might be 
necessary to give any instructions. He had made sure 
that the luncheon basket which he had ordered at Bowness 
was in its place. . Then he had driven back to the bye-road 
and waited with what patience he could for the coming of 
Joy. 

She came up the bye-road walking fast enough. Up to 
that point she had walked leisurely, but when she saw the 
great car all flaming magnificently in scarlet and gold she 
forgot everything in the way of demureness, and hurried 
forward. She had also seen Mr. Hardy. That morning 
he had put on his motor clothes, for he knew he had to look 
forward to a long spell of hard work before him — work 
of a kind which needs special equipment. More than ever 
did he look tall and lithe and elegant in his well-fitting suit 
of soft dark leather. When he caught sight of Joy and 
saw that she was still in her pretty white frock he began 
to lift from the bottom of the tonneau a pile of wraps 
which he spread on the side. Joy did not notice the things 
at first; her eyes were all for him. He stepped forward 
to meet her and, after a quick glance round to see that 
they were alone, took her in his arms and kissed her. She 
received the kiss in the most natural way— as if it was a 
matter of course, and returned it. It is surprising what 


i86 


LADY ATHLYNE 


an easy art to learn kissing is, and how soon even the most 
bashful of lovers become reconciled to its exacting rules ! 

Then she began to admire his car, partly to please him, 
partly because it was really a splendid machine admirably 
wrought to its special purpose — speed. He lifted a couple 
of coats and asked: 

“ Which will you wear ? 

“ Must I wear one ? It is warm enough isn’t it without 
a coat?” 

“ At present, yes ! But when our friend here ” he slapped 
the car affectionately “ wakes up and knows who he has 
the honour of carrying you’ll want it. You have no idea 
what a difference a fifty or sixty mile breeze makes.” 

“ I’ll take this one, please,” she said without another 
word; a ready acquiescence to his advice which made him 
glow afresh. One after another she took all the articles 
which his loving forethought had provided, and put them 
on prettily. She felt, and he felt too, that each fresh adorn- 
ment was something after the manner of an embrace. At 
the last he lifted the motor cap and held it out to her. She 
took it with a smile and a blush. 

“ I really quite forgot my hat,” she said. “ ’Tis funny 
how your memory goes when you’re very eager 1 ” This 
little speech, unconsciously uttered, sent a wave of sweet 
passion through the man. “Very Eager!” She went on: 

“ But where on earth am I to put it ? I think I had 
almost better hide it here behind the hedge and retrieve it 
when we get back ! ” Athlyne smiled superiorly — that sort 
of affectionate tolerant superiority which a woman admires 
in a man she loves and which the least sentimental man 
employs unconsciously at times. He stooped into the ton- 
neau and from under one of the seats drew out a leather 
bonnet-box which ran in and out on a slide. As he touched 
a spring this flew open, showing space and equipment for 
several hats and a tiny dressing bag. 

“ Why, dear, there is everything in the world in your 
wonderful car.” 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS 187 

How he was thrilled by her using the word — ^the first 
time her lips had used it to him. It was none the less 
sweet because spoken without thought. She herself had 
something of the same feeling. She quivered in a languor- 
ous ecstasy. But she did not even blush at the thought; 
it had been but the natural expression of her feeling and 
she was glad she had said it. Their eyes searched each 
other and told their own eloquent tale. 

Darling 1 ” he said, and bending over kissed again the 
rosy mouth that was pouted to meet him. 

In silence he opened the door of the tonneau. She drew 
back. 

‘‘ Must I go in there — alone ? ” 

** I can’t go with you, darling. I must sit in the seat to 
drive. Unless you would rather we had the chauffeur ! ” 
You stupid old . . . dear!'' this in a whisper. “I 

want to sit beside you — as close as I can . . . dar- 

ling!" She sank readily into the arms which instinctively 
opened. 

True love makes its own laws, its own etiquettes. When 
lovers judge harshly each the conduct of the other it is 
time for the interference or the verdict of strangers. But 
not till then. 

Athlyne took the wheel, feeling in a sort of triumphant 
glory; in every way other than he had expected. He 
thought that he would be ardent and demonstrative; he 
was protective. The very trustfulness of her reception of 
his caresses and her responsiveness to them made for a 
certain intellectual quietude. 

Joy too was in a sort of ecstatic calm. There was such 
completeness about her happiness that all thought of self 
disappeared. She did not want anything to be changed 
in the whole universe. She did not want time to fly betwixt 
now and her union with the man she loved. That might — 
would — come later ; but in the meanwhile happiness was so 
complete as to transcend ambition, hope, time. 

Athlyne, who had made up his mind as to the direction 


i88 


LADY ATHLYNE 


of the drive, came down on the high road and drove at 
moderate speed to Ambleside ; he thought that it would be 
wise to go slowly so as not to be too conspicuous. He had 
given Joy a dust- veil but she had not yet adjusted it. The 
present pace did not require such protection, and the idea 
of concealing her identity did not even enter into her head. 
When they were passing the post-office a sudden recollec- 
tion came to Athlyne, and he stopped the car suddenly. 
Joy for an instant was a little alarmed and looked towards 
him inquiringly. 

Only a letter which I want to post ! ” he said in reply 
as he stepped down on the pavement. He opened his jacket 
and took from his pocket a letter which he placed in the 
box. Joy surmised afresh about the letter; she vaguely 
wondered if it was the same that she had seen him close 
and put into his pocketbook. The thought was, however, 
only a passing one. She had something else than other 
people’s letters to think about at present. 

Just as he was turning back from the post box Eugenie, 
who was taking advantage of her freedom, passed along 
the pavement. She stopped to admire the tall chauffeur 
whom she thought the handsomest man she had ever seen. 
She did not know him. Her service with Miss Ogilvie had 
only commenced with the visit to London: up to the time 
of her leaving Italy Mrs. Ogilvie’s maid had attended to 
Joy. She stood back and pretended to be looking in at a 
window as she did not care to be seen staring openly at 
him. Then she saw that he was no ordinary chauffeur. It 
was with a sigh that she said to herself : 

*‘Voila! Un vrai Monsieur!” Her eyes following him 
as he turned the starting handle and took his seat behind 
the wheel, she saw that his companion was her mistress. 
Not wishing to appear as if prying on her either, she 
instinctively turned away. 

As Athlyne was arranging himself to his driving work 
he said quietly to Joy: 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS 189 

** Sorry for delaying^ but it was a most important letter, 
which I want to be delivered to-night. It might be late 
if it was not posted till Carlisle.” This was the first knowl- 
edge Joy had of the direction of the journey. Eugenie 
heard only the last word as the car moved ofif. 

The pace was comparatively slow until the outskirts of 
Ambleside had been passed; then he told Joy to put on 
her spectacles and donned his own. When they were both 
ready he increased the pace, and they flew up to the shores 
of Rydal Water. At Joy's request they slowed down whilst 
the lake was in sight; but raced again till the road ran 
close to the peaceful water of Grasmere. But when 
Grasmere with its old church and Coleridge’s tomb lay 
away to their left they flew again up the steep road to 
Thirlmere. Athlyne was a careful driver and the car was 
a good hill climber. It was only when the road was quite 
free ahead that they went at great speed. They kept 
steadily on amongst the rising mountains, only slackening 
as they passed to Thirlmere and dropped down to Keswick. 
They did not stop here, but passing by the top of Derwent- 
water drew up for a few minutes to look down the lake 
whose wooded islands add so much to the loveliness of 
the view. Then on again full speed by the borders of 
Bassenthwaite Lake and on amongst the frowning hills 
to Cockermouth. 

Joy was in a transport of delight the whole time. Her 
soul seemed to be lifted by the ever-varying beauty of the 
panorama as they swept along; and the rushing speed 
stirred her blood. She was silent, save at ecstatic moments 
when she was quite unable to control herself. Athlyne was 
silent too. He had been over the ground already, and 
besides such driving required constant care and attention. 
He was more than ever careful in his work, for was not 
Joy — his Joy! — his passenger. 

They did not stop at Cockermouth but turned into the 
main road and, passing Bride-kirk — and Bothel, flew up 


LADY ATHLYNE 


190 

to Carlisle. As he slowed down at the city wall Athlyne 
looking at his watch said quietly : 

“ An hour and a half and some fifty miles. Let us go 
on and eat our lunch in Scotland.’' 

“ Oh do ! Go on ! Go on — darling ! I forgot to tell 
you that I have had a wire; they don’t get in till seven; 
so we have two more hours,” cried Joy enthusiastically. 
This time she used the word of endearment instinctively 
and without a pause. Practice makes perfect ” says the 
old saw. 

Athlyne controlled himself and went at quiet pace through 
the Cumberland capital. He would like to have put the 
engine at full speed; the last word had fired him afresh. 
However, he did not want to get into police trouble. When 
he came out on the Northern road and climbed the steep 
hill to Stanwix he felt freer. The road was almost a dead 
level and there was little traffic, only a stray cart here 
and there. Then he let go, and the car jumped forward 
like an eager horse. Athlyne felt proud of it, just as 
though it had an intention of its own — ^that it wanted to 
show Joy how it loved to carry her. Joy almost held her 
breath as they swept along here. The wind whistled around 
her head and she had to keep her neck stiff against the 
pressure of the fifty-mile breeze. They slowed at the 
forking of the road beyond Kingstown; and at the Esk 
bridge and its approaches; otherwise they went at terrific 
speed till they reached the border where the road crossed 
the Sark. Then, keeping the Lochberie road to the right, 
they rushed away through Annan towards Dumfries. 

Joy did not know that at that turning off to Annan they 
were almost in touch with Gretna Green. Athlyne did 
not think of it at the time. Had the knowledge or the 
thought of either been engaged on the subject the tempta- 
tion it would have brought might have been too much for 
lovers in their rapturous condition . . . and the course 

of this history might have been different. 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUb 191 

The run to the outskirts of Dumfries, where the traffic 
increased, was another wild rush which wrought both the 
occupants of the car to a high pitch of excitement. 

To Joy it seemed a sort of realisation. On the drive 
to Carlisle, and from that on over the Border, the fringing 
hills of the Solway had been a dim and mystery-provoking 
outline. But now the hills were at hand, before them and 
to the north ; whilst far across the waste of banks and 
shoals of Solway Frith rose the Cumberland mountains, a 
mighty piling mass of serrated blue haze. It was a con- 
vincing recognition of the situation; this was Scotland, 
and England was far behind! Instinctively she leaned 
closer to her companion at the thought. 

Between Dumfries and Castle Douglas was a long hill 
to climb within a stretch of seven miles. But the Delaunay- 
Belleville breasted it nobly and went up with unyielding 
energy. Then, when the summit at Crocketford was 
reached, she ran down the hill to Urr Water with a mighty 
rush which seemed to carry her over the lesser hill to 
Castle Douglas. From thence the road to Dairy was 
magnificent for scenery. At Crossmicheal it came close to 
the Ken whose left bank it followed right up by Parton 
to '' St. John’s Town of Dairy ” where it crossed the river. 
Athlyne had intended to rest a while somewhere about 
here; but the old coach road, winding with the curves of 
the river, looked so inviting that he ran a few miles up 
north towards Carsphairn. Coming to a bye-road where 
grew many fine trees of beech and stone pine which 
gave welcome shade, he ran up a few hundred yards to 
where the road curved a little. Here was an ideal spot 
for a picnic, and especially for a picnic of two like the 
present. 

The curving of the road made an open space, which the 
spreading trees above shaded. Deep grass was on the 
wide margin of the flat road which presently dipped to 
cross a shallow rill of bright water which fell from a little 


192 


LADY ATHLYNE 


rocky ledge, tinkling happily through the hum of sum- 
mer insect life. Wildflowers grew everywhere. It was 
idyllic and delightful and beautiful in every way, even to 
where, towering high above a Druidic ruin in the fore- 
ground, the lofty hills of Carsphairn rose far away between 
them and the western sky. In itself the scene wanted for 
absolute perfection some figures in the foreground. And 
presently it had them in a very perfect form. Joy clapped 
her hands with delight like a happy child as she glanced 
around her. Athlyne drew up sharp, and jumping from his 
seat held out his hand to Joy who sprang beside him on 
the road. As they stood together when Joy’s wrap had 
been removed they made a handsome couple. Both tall 
and slim and elegant and strong. Both straight as lances; 
both bright and eager ; with the light of love and happiness 
shining on them more notably than even the flicker of 
sunlight between the great stems and branches of the 
trees. His brown hair seemed to match her black; the 
brown eyes and the grey both were lit with a “ light that 
never came from land or sea ! ” Joy’s eyes fell under the 
burning glances of her lover; the time had not yet come 
for that absolutely fearless recognition which, being a 
man’s unconscious demand, a woman instinctively resists. 
Athlyne recognised the delicacy and acquiesced. All this 
without a single spoken word. Then he spoke: 

“ Was there ever such a magnificent run in the world. 
More than a hundred miles on end without a break or 
pause. And every moment a lifetime of bliss — to me at all 
events — Darling ! ” 

“ And to me ! ” Joy’s eyes flashed grey lightning as 
she raised them for a moment to his, and held them there. 
Athlyne’s knees trembled with delight; his voice quivered 
also as he spoke: 

And all the time I never left my duty once for an 
instant. I think I ought to get a medal ! ” 


A BANQUET ON OLYMPUS 193 

“ You should indeed, darling. And I never once dis- 
tracted you from it did I ? ” 

“ Unhappily, no ! ” His eyes danced. 

“ So I ought to get more than a medal ! ’’ 

“ What ? What should you get — now ? ” His voice was 
a little hoarse. He drew closer to her. She made no 
answer in words ; but her eyes were more eloquent. With 
a mutual movement she was in his arms and their mouths 
met. 

“ And now for lunch ! ” he said as after a few entrancing 
seconds she drew her face away. “ I am sure you must 
be starving.” 

I am hungry ! ” she confessed. Her face was still 
flushed and her eyes were like stars. She bustled about to 
help him. He took the seats and cushions from the ton- 
neau and made a comfortable nest for her, with a seat for 
himself close, very close beside her. He lifted off the 
luncheon basket and unstrapped it. Whilst she took out 
the plates and packets and spread the cloth he put a bottle 
of champagne and one of fizzy water in the cool of the 
running stream. 

They may have had some delightful picnics on Olympus 
in the days of the old gods who were so human and who 
loved so much— and so often. But surely there was none 
so absolutely divine as on that day that under the trees, 
looking over at the grey piling summits of the mountains 
of Carsphairn. The food was a dream, the wine was 
nectar. The hearts of the two young people beat as one 
heart. Love surely was so triumpahnt that there never 
could come a cloud into the sky which hung over them 
like a blue canopy. Life and nature and happiness and 
beauty and love took hands and danced around them fairy- 
like as they sat together, losing themselves and their very 
souls in the depths of each other's eyes. 


CHAPTER XV 


“ STOP ! ” 

Under the shading trees the time flew fast. It is ever thus 
in the sylvan glades where love abides : 

. The halcyon hours with double swiftness run 
And in the splendour of Arcadian summers 
The quicker climb the coursers of the sun.” 

Athlyne and Joy sat in a gentle rapture of happiness. 
She had made him draw up his cushion close to her so that 
she could lean against him. They sat hand in hand for a 
while, and then one arm stole round her and drew her close 
to him. She came yieldingly, as though such a moment 
had been ordained since the beginning of the world. Her 
hand stole inside his arm and held him tight; and so they 
sat locked together, with their faces so close that their 
mouths now and again met in long, sweet kisses. More 
than once was asked by either the old question of lovers — 
which has no adequate or final answer : “ Do you love 

me ? ” And at each such time the answer was given in the 
fashion which ruled in Eden — and ever since. 

Presently Athlyne, drawing Joy closer than ever to him, 
said: 

“ Joy darling there is something I want to say to you ! ” 
He paused; she drew him closer to her, and held him 
tighter. She realised that his voice had changed a little; 
he was under some nervousness or anxiety. This woke the 
protective instinct which is a part of woman’s love. 

“We love each other?” 

“I do I ” As she spoke she looked at him with her great 
gray eyes blazing. He kissed her: 

194 


STOP!’’ 


195 


“ And I love you, my darling, more than I have words 
to say. More than words can express. I am lost in you. 
You are my world, my hope, my heaven ! Beyond measure 
I love you, and honour you, and trust you; and now that 
I feel you love me too . . . My dear! . . . my 
dear! the whole world seems to swim around me and the 
heavens to open . . .” 

“ Dear, go on. It is music to me — all music — that I have 
so longed for ! ” 

“Darling! It seems like sacrilege to say anything just 
now — ^but — but — You know I love you ? ” 

“Yes!” The simple word was stronger than any em- 
bellishment; it was of the completeness, the majesty, of 
sincerity in its expression. 

“ Then there is no need to say more of that now 
. . . But before I say something else which I long 

to hear — in words, dear, for its truth is already in my 
heart . . 

“ Darling ! ” she spoke the word lingeringly as though 
grudging that its saying must end . . . 

“ Before such time I must speak with your father ! ” He 
spoke the words with a gravity which brought a chill to her 
heart; her face blanched suddenly as does liquid in the 
final crystallization of frost. Her voice was faint — she was 
only a girl after all, despite her pride and bravery — ^as she 
asked : 

“ Oh, I hope it is nothing. . . 

“ Nothing, darling ” he said as he stroked tenderly the 
hand that lay in his — he had taken his arm from her waist 
to do it — “ except the courtesy which is due to an old man 
. . . and one other thing, small in itself — absolutely 

nothing in my own mind — which makes it necessary in re- 
spect to his ... his .. . his convictions that I 
should speak to him before . . He stopped suddenly, 

remembering that if he went on he must betray the secret 
which as yet he wished to keep. Not on his own account 


LADY ATHLYNE 


196 

did he wish to keep it. But there was Joy’s happiness to 
be considered. Until he knew how Colonel Ogilvie would 
take the knowledge of his having introduced himself under 
a false name he must not do or say anything which might 
ultimately make difference between her and her father. 

Joy erred in her interpretation of his embarrassment, of 
his sudden stopping. Again the pallor grew over her face 
which had under her lover’s earlier words regained its nor- 
mal colour. More faintly even than before she whispered : 

“ It is nothing I hope that would keep us . . He 

saw her distress and cut quickly into her question : 

“ No ! No ! No ! Nothing that could ever come be- 
tween you and me. It is only this, Joy darling. Your 
father belongs to another country from my own and an older 
generation than mine. His life has been different, and the 
ideas that govern him are very masterful in their conven- 
tion. Were I to neglect this I might make trouble which 
would, without our wish or part, come between us. Believe 
me, dear, that in this I am wise.” Then seeing the trouble 
still in her eyes he went on : “I know well, Joy, that it is 
not necessary for me to justify myself in your eyes.” Here 
she strained him a little closer and held his arm and his 
hand harder “ but my dearest, I am going to do it all the 
same. I want to say something, but which I mustn’t say 
yet, so that you must be tolerant with me if I say unneeded 
things which are still open to me. Truly, darling, there 
is absolutely nothing which could possibly come between you 
and me. I have done no wrong — in that way at all events. 
There should be no more difference between you and me 
for anything that is now in my mind than there is between 
your soul and the blue sky above us ; between you and 
heaven. . . She put her hand over his mouth : 

Oh hush, hush, dear. . . . By the way what am 

V I to call you — darling?” For the moment he was taken 
aback. To give her his own name as yet would be to 
break the resolution of present secrecy ; to give her a false 


^^STOP!*^ 197 

name now would be sacrilege. His native Irish wit stood 
him in good stead: 

That is the name for to-day — darling. There can be 
none like that — for to-day. We began with it. It took 
me on its wings up to heaven. Let me stay there — for 
to-day. For to-day we are true husband and wife — are 
we not ? '' 

‘‘ Yes dear ! ” she answered simply. He went on : 

‘‘ To-morrow ... we can be grave to-morrow ; and 
then I can give you another name to use — if you wish it ! ” 

“I do ! ” she said with reverence. She accepted and re- 
turned, the kiss which followed. This closed the incident, 
and for a little space they sat hand in hand, his arm again 
round her whilst again she had linked her arm in his. 
Presently he said : 

“ And now Joy dear, won^t you tell me all about yourself. 
You know that as yet you and I know very little about 
each other’s surroundings. I want specially to know to-day 
dear, for to-morrow I want to see your father and it will 
be better to go equipped.” Joy felt quite in a flutter. At 
last she was going to learn something about the man she 
loved. She would tell him everything, and he would 
. . . Her thoughts were interrupted by her companion 

going on : 

“ And then to-morrow when we have talked I can tell you 
everything. . . .” 

Everything ! ” then there was something to conceal ! 
Her heart fell. But as the man continued, her train of 
thought was again interrupted: 

When you see him to-night you had better . . 

Suddenly she jumped to her feet in a sort of fright. See- 
ing her face he too sprang up, giving, with the instinct of 
his campaigning a quick look around as though some danger 
threatened : 

“ What is it Joy? What is wrong? . . .” She almost 

gasped out: 


LADY ATHLYNE 


198 

“ My father ! He will be home by seven ! It must be 
late in the afternoon now and we are more than a hundred 
miles from home! . . Athlyne in turn was staggered. 
In his happiness in being with Joy and talking of love he 
had quite overlooked the passing of time. Instinctively he 
looked at his watch. It was now close on four o’clock. 

. . . Joy was the first to speak : 

“ Oh do let us hurry I No one knows where I am ; and 
if when Daddy gets home and finds I am not there he will 
be alarmed — and he may be upset. And Mother and Aunt 
Judy too! . . . Gh do not lose a moment! If we do 
not get home before they arrive . . . and Daddy finds 

I have been out all day with you . . . Oh, hurry, 

hurry!” 

Athlyne had been thinking hard whilst she spoke, and his 
thoughts had been arranging themselves. His intelligence 
was all awake now. He could see at a glance that Joy’s 
absence might make trouble for all. Colonel Ogilvie was 
a man of covenance, and his daughter’s going out with him 
in such a way was at least unconventional. She must get 
back in time! His conclusion was reached before she had 
finished speaking. His military habit of quick action as- 
serted itself; already he was replacing the things in the 
carriage. Joy saw, and with feverish haste began to help 
him. When he saw her at work he ran to the engine and 
began to prepare for starting. When that was ready he 
held Joy’s coat for her and helped her into her seat. As 
he took the wheel he said as he began to back down the 
road which was hardly wide enough to turn in: 

“ Forgive me, dear. It was all my selfish pleasure. But 
we shall do all we can. Bar accident we may do it; we 
have over three hours ! ” He set his teeth as he saw the 
struggle before him. It would be a glorious run . . . 

and there was no use forestalling trouble. . . . Joy 
saw the smile on his face, recognised the man’s strength, 
and was comforted. 


“STOP!” 199 

They backed into the road and sprang southward. With- 
out taking his eyes off his work, Athlyne said: 

“ Tell me dear as we go along all that I must bear in 
mind in speaking to your father of our marriage. . . 

There! It was out unconsciously. Joy thrilled, but he 
did not himself seem to notice his self-betrayal. He went 
on unconcernedly: 

“ It may be a little uphill at first if we do not get in line 
in time.” Joy looked under her lashes at the strong face 
now set as a stone to his work and kept silence as to the 
word. She was glad that she could blush unseen. After 
a little pause she said in a meek voice: 

“Very well, dear. I shall tell you whenever we are on 
a straight bit of road, but I will be silent round the curves.” 
They were then flying along the old coach road. The road 
was well-made, broad and with good surface and they went 
at a terrific pace. Athlyne felt that the only chance of 
reaching Ambleside was by taking advantage of every 
opportunity for speed. Already he knew from the morn- 
ing's journey that there were great opportunities as long 
stretches of the road were level and in good order and were 
not unduly impeded with traffic. The motor was running 
splendidly, it seemed as if the run in the morning had put 
every part of it in good working order. He did not despair 
of getting to Ambleside in time. The train was not due 
at Windmere till seven. And it might be a little late. In 
any case it would take the arriving party a little while to 
get their things together and then drive to Ambleside. As 
they were sweeping down towards the bridge at Dairy he 
said to Joy without looking round: 

“ It will be all right. I have been thinking it over. We 
can do it ! ” 

“ Thank God ! ” she exclaimed fervently. She too had 
been thinking. 

“ Stop!” 

The voice rang out imperiously; and a policeman, step- 


200 


LADY ATHLYNE 


ping from behind the trunk of a great beech, held up his 
hand. Instinctively Athlyne began to slow. He shouted 
back “ All right ! ” He had grasped the situation and as 
they were out of earshot of the policeman said quickly 
to Joy: 

“ We are arrested ! Oh, I am sorry darling. If they 
won’t let me pay a fine and go at on(!e you must take the 
car on. I shall try to arrange that. But do be cautious 
dear — you are so precious to me. If you are delayed any- 
where and can’t make it in time wire to your father tell him 
you are motoring and have been delayed. It will soften 
matters, even if he is angry. I shall go on by train in the 
morning. And darling if you are not getting on as you 
wish, take a train the best you can — a special. Don’t stop 
at any expense. But get on! And don’t tell your name 
to any one, under any circumstances. Don’t forget the tele- 
gram if delayed.” As he was speaking the car was slowing 
and the panting policeman was coming up behind. When 
the car stopped, Athlyne jumped out and walked towards the 
officer; he wanted to be as conciliatory as possible. 

“ I am very sorry, officer. That beautiful bit of road 
tempted me; and being all quite clear I took a skim 
down it?” 

“Ye did! Man, but it was fine! But I hae to arrest 
ye all the same. Duty is duty ! ” 

“ Certainly. I suppose the station is across the bridge ? ” 

“ Aye sir.” The policeman, who at first sight had from 
his dress taken him for a chauffeur, had by now recognised 
him as a gentleman. 

“ Will you come in the car ? It’s all right. I’ll go 
slow.” 

“ Thank ye sir. I’ve had a deal o’ walkin’ the day ! ” 
When the man was in the tonneau Athlyne who had been 
thinking of what was to be done said to him affably: 

“ It was silly of me going at such a pace. But I wanted 
my wife to see how the new car worked.” He had a pur- 


STOP!’’ 


201 


pose in saying this : to emphasise to Joy the necessity of not 
mentioning her name. It was the only way to keep off 
the subject when they should get to the station. Joy turned 
away her head. She did not wish either man to see her 
furious blushing at hearing the word. She took the hint; 
silence was her cue. 

At the station Joy sat in the car whilst Athlyne went 
inside with the officer. The sergeant was a grave elderly 
man, not unkindly. He too recognised, but at once, that 
the chauffeur was a gentleman. There was an air of dis- 
tinction about Athlyne which no one, especially an official, 
could fail to appreciate. He was not surprised when he 
read the card which Athlyne handed to him. He frowned 
a little and scratched his head. 

“ I fear this’ll be a bit awkward my lord. Ye come frae 
o’er the Border and ye’ll hae to attend the summons at New 
Galloway. I dinna want to inconvenience you and her lady- 
ship but ...” 

“ Will it not be possible to let the car go on. My wife V 
has to meet her father and mother who are coming up to 
Ambleside to-night, and they will be so disappointed. Her 
mother is an invalid and is coming from Italy. I shall 
be really greatly obliged if it can be managed.” 

The sergeant shook his head and said slowly : 

“ ’Tis a fine car. A valuable commodity to take out of 
the jurisdiction and intil a foreign country.” Athlyne had 
already taken out his pocket-book. Fortunately he had 
provided himself well with money before coming north. 

I paid a thousand pounds for the car. Will it not suit 
if I leave that amount in your custody.” The official was 
impressed. 

“ Losh I man what wad I be daen wi’ a thoosan poons in 
a wee bit station like this, or carryin’ it aboot in me claes. 

Na! na! if ye’ll de-po-sit say a ten poon note for the 
guarantee I’m thinkin’ ’twill be a’ reet. But how can the 
leddy get ava; ye’ll hae to bide till the morn’s morn.” 


202 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“ Oh that’s all right, officer, she’s a licensed driver. Un- 
happily she has not got her license with her. She left it 
in Ambleside as I was driving myself and had mine.” He 
said this to avert her being questioned on the neglect; in 
which case there might be more trouble about the pace. 

“ Ooh ! aye. Then that’s a’ reet ! A maun ax her masel 
forbye she mayn’t hae the license aboot her. Wimmen is 
feckless cattle anyhow ! ” 

“ Do you think sergeant she may get away at once. It 
is a long drive, and the day is getting on. I shall be 
very grateful indeed if you can manage it ! ” The sergeant 
was still impressed by the pocket book. 

“ Weel A’ll see what A can dae ! ” He went outside with 
Athlyne to the automobile, and touching his cap said : 

“ Yer pardon ma leddy, ye’re the wife o’ the defender? ” 
Joy was glad that she had put on the motor veil attached 
to her cap. 

“Yes! My husband told you, did he not?” she said. 
The thrill that came to her with the speaking of the word 
“ husband ” she kept for later thought. The sergeant an- 
swered respectfully: 

“ He did ma leddy. But as an offeecial o’ the law I hae 
to make sure as ye’re aboot to travel oot o’ the jurisdiction. 
He says ye hae left yer licence at hame; but as ye hae 
answered me that ye are his wife I will accept it, an’ ye may 
go. The defender remains here; but I’m thinkin’ there’s 
a chance that he may no hae to remain so lang as he’s fearin ! 
Ma service to ye ma leddy.” He touched his cap and went 
back into the station. 

Athlyne came forward and said in a low voice, for the 
policeman who had effected the arrest was now standing 
outside the door : 

“ You will be careful darling. You may be able to do 
it. But if you are late and your father be angry say as 
little as you can. Unhappily I must remain here, but I shall 
do all I possibly can to settle things quietly. I shall follow 


I 


STOP!’' 


203 


in the morning; but not too early. Don’t forget to wire 
your father if you are delayed anywhere, or are certain to 
be late. For my own part I shall leave proof everywhere of 
my own presence as we shall be in different countries ! ” He 
said this as it occurred to him that if she should be delayed 
it might later avert a scandal. Then he spoke up for the 
benefit of the policeman : 

“ As the time is so short, and we have learned the lesson 
of the danger of going too fast, you might ask when you get 
to Carlisle whether it is not quicker to return by Penrith 
and Patterdale. That way is some miles shorter.” The 
policeman who had heard — and had also seen the pocket- 
book— came close and said with a respectful touch of 
his cap: 

If A may make sae bold, the leddy can save a wheen 
o’ miles by takin’ the road to Dumfries by Ken Brig an’ 
Crocketford up yon. A saw ye the morn cornin’ up there.” 
Athlyne nodded and touched his pocket ; the man drew back 
into the station. One last word to Joy: 

'' I wish you knew the machine darling. But we must / 
take chance for all going well.” As he spoke he was turn- 
ing the starting handle. Joy in a low voice said : 

'' Good bye my darling ! ” Resolutely she touched the 
levers, and the car moved off quietly to the “ God bless 
you ! ” of each. 

Athlyne watched the car as long as it was in sight ; then 
he went back into the station. He spoke at once to the 
sergeant. 

“ Now sergeant is there nothing that can possibly be 
done to hasten the matter. You see I have done all I can 
to obey rules — once having broken them. I am most 
anxious to get back home as I have some very important 
business in the morning. I shall of course do exactly as 
is necessary ; but I shall be deeply obliged if I can get away 
quietly, and double deeply to you if you can arrange it.” 

‘‘ Well ma lord I dinna think ye’ll hae much trouble or 


204 


LADY ATHLYNE 


be delayed o’er lang neither. For masel A canna do aught; 
but A’m thinkin that the Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel will be 
here ony moment. He nearly always rides by when the 
fair at Castle Douglas is on, as it is to be in the morn. A’ll 
hae a sharp look oot for him. He’s a kind good man; an 
A’m thinkin that he’ll no fash yer lordship. He can take 
responsibeelity that even a sargeant o’ polis daurn’t. So it’s 
like ye’ll get ava before the nicht.” 

Athlyne sat himself down to wait with what patience he 
could muster. Once again nature’s pendulum began to 
swing in his thoughts; on one side happiness, on the other 
anxiety. The delight of the day wherein he had realised 
to the full that Joy indeed loved him, even as he loved her ; 
the memory of those sweet kisses which still tingled on his 
lips and momentarily exalted him to a sort of rapture; and 
then the fear which was manifold, selfish and unselfish. She 
might get into any one of many forms of trouble if only 
from her anxiety to reach home before the arrival of her 
parents. She was, after all, not a practiced driver ; and was 
in control of the very latest type of machine of whose special 
mechanism she could know nothing. If she should break 
down far from any town she would be in the most difficult 
position possible: a girl all alone in a country she did not 
know. And all this apart from the possibility of accident, of 
mischance of driving ; of the act of other travellers ; of cattle 
on the road; of any of the countless mishaps which can 
be with so swift and heavy a machine as a motor. And then 
should she not arrive in time, what pain or unpleasantness 
might there not be with her father. He would be upset 
and anxious at first, naturally. He might be angry with 
her for going out on such a long excursion with a man 
alone ; he would most certainly be angry with him for taking 
her, for allowing her to go. And at such a time too ! Just 
when everything was working — had worked towards the 
end he aimed at. He knew that Colonel Ogilvie was and 
had been incensed with him for a neglect which under the 


STOP!’’ 


205 

circumstances was absolute discourtesy. And here he bit- 
terly took himself to task for his selfishness — he realised 
now that it was such — in wanting to make sure of Joy’s 
love before consulting her father, or even explaining to him 
the cause of his passing under a false name. Might it not 
be too late to set that right now. . . . And there he was, 

away in Scotland, kicking his heels in a petty little police 
station, while she poor girl would have to bear all the brunt 
of the pain and unpleasantness. And that after a long, 
wearying, wearing drive of a hundred miles, with her dear 
heart eternally thumping away lest she might lose in her 
race against Time. And what was worse still that it would 
all follow a day which he did not attempt to doubt had been, 
up to the time of the arrest, one of unqualified happiness. 

"... nessun maggoir dolore 
Che ricordasi del tempo felice 
Nella miseria.” 

(“ A sorrow’s crown of sorrow is remembering happier things.”) 

The contrast would be terrible. He knew what the thought 
of it was to him; what would it be to her! Her sweet, 
gentle, loving heart would be hurt, crushed to the very 
dust. 

He sprang to his feet and walked about the room, till 
noticing the sergeant was watching him with surprise and 
suspicion, he controlled himself. 

He talked with the sergeant for a while genially. It 
was positively necessary that there should not be any doubt 
in the mind of the latter when the Sheriff should arrive. 
This episode took the strain from his mind — for a time. He 
expressed to the officer how anxious he was to get on and 
I interested the worthy man so much that he sent over to the 
hotel to borrow a time-table. There Athlyne learned that 
it would be practically impossible for him to get on to 
I Ambleside that night. Not even if he could get a special 
1 train at Carlisle — there was no possibility of getting one 


2o6 


LADY ATHLYNE 


from a nearer place. When he asked the sergeant his 
opinion, that grave individual condescended to smile : 

“ Losh ! man they don’t run specials on these bit lines. 
Tis as much as they can do to run a few trains a day. A’m 
thinkin’ that if ye asked the stationmaster anywheer along 
the Dumfries and Kircudbright line for a special he’d hae 
ye in the daft-hoose, or he’d be there himsel ! ” Athlyne 
went back to his seat; once again the pendulum of his 
thoughts swung to and fro. 

He was now face to face with one certainty amongst 
many possibilities: Whatever befel he could not give any 
immediate help to Joy. She, poor dear, must fend for her- 
self and if need be, fight her battle alone. He could only 
try to make it up to her afterwards. And yet what could 
he do for her, what more give to her who had already all that 
was his ! And here again he lost himself in memories of the 
immediate past; which presently merged into dreams of 
the future which has no end. 

But again swung the pendulum with the thought of what 
he was next day to do which might help Joy. He began 
to realise out of the intensity of his thought, which was now 
all unselfish, in what a danger of misconception the girl 
stood already and how such might be multiplied by any acci- 
dent of her arrival. In the eyes of her friends her very 
character might be at stake! And now he made up his 
mind definitely as to how he would protect her in that way. 
He could prove his time of leaving Ambleside by his chauf- 
feur, the time of that swift journey would be its own proof ; 
the time of his arrest was already proved. Likewise of 
Joy’s departure for home. Henceforward till he should 
meet her father he would take care that his movements were 
beyond any mystery or suspicion whatever. In any case — 
even if she did not arrive at home till late — Joy would be 
actually in another country from that which held him, and 
the rapidity of her journey would in itself protect. He 
would stay in some hotel in a place where he could get a 


“STOP!’^ 207 

suitable train in the morning; and would arrange that his 
arrival and departure were noted. 

Naturally the place he would rest for the night, if he 
should succeed in getting away, would be Castle Douglas; 
for here lines from Kirkcudbright, from Stranraer, and 
from Glasgow made junction so that he had a double chance 
of departure. If he were detained at Dairy the police them- 
selves would be proof of his presence there. 

He felt easier in his mind after this decision, and was 
able to await with greater patience the coming of the 
Sheriff. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 

Joy started on her long journey in a very agitated frame 
of mind ; though the habit of her life and her concern for 
her lover enabled her to so bear herself that she appeared 
calm. To start with, she was full of fears; some of them 
natural, others of that class which is due to the restrictions 
and conventions of a woman’s life. She was by no means 
an expert driver. She merely had some lessons and was 
never in an automobile by herself before. Moreover she 
was not only in a country strange to her, but even the 
road to Dumfries on which she was started was absolutely 
new to her. In addition to it all she was — as an American — • 
handicapped by the difference in the rules of the road. 
In America they follow the French and drive on the off 
side : in England the “ on ” rule is correct. 

She had no option, however; she dared not make any 
difficulty or even ask advice or help, for such might betray 
her and she might not be allowed to proceed at all. So 
with as brace a face and bearing as she could muster, but 
with a sinking heart, she started on her journey, praying 
inwardly that she might not meet with any untoward accident 
or difficulty. For she did not know anything about 
mechanism; the use of the wheel and the levers in driving 
was all that had been embraced in her lessons. 

At first all went well enough. The road was clear and 
she felt that she had the machine well in hand. As far 
as Balmaclellan she went slowly, carefully, climbing 
laboriously up the steep zig-zag road; and presently she 
began to feel in good heart. She did not know the name 
of the place ; had never heard of it. But it was some- 

208 


209 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 

where; one stage at least on the way home. When the 
village lay behind her she began to put on more speed. 
With the apprehension gone of not being able to get on 
at all, she began to think of her objective and of how 
long was the journey before it could be revealed. With 
increased speed, however, came fresh fears. The impor- 
tance of the machine began to be manifest; such force and 
speed needed special thought. The road changed so rapidly 
that she felt that she wanted another pair of eyes. The 
wheel alone, with its speed and steering indices, took all 
attention. She hardly dared to look up from it. And 
yet if she did not how could she know the road to take; 
how could she look out for danger. Happily the mere 
movement was a tonic; the rush through the air braced 
her. Otherwise she would have been shortly in a state of 
panic. 

Very soon she began to realise the difficulty of driving 
on an unknown road, when one is not skilled in the art. 
So many things have to be considered all at once, and the 
onus of choosing perpetually is of nightmare shadow. The 
openings of bye-roads and cross-roads are so much more 
important than is suspected that there is a passing doubt 
as to direction; and country roads generally wind about 
so that distant land-marks, which can guide one in general 
direction, come and go with embarrassing suddenness. At 
first every cart-track or farm-road made such doubts, and 
even when she got to understand such minor trends she 
got confused over bye-roads of more importance. Cross- 
roads there were before long, right or left making short- 
cuts for those who knew. These she had to pass; she 
could judge only of her course by the excellence of the 
main road— not always a safe guide in remote agricultural 
districts. One thing told in her favour: the magnificent 
bracing air of that splendid high-hung moor through which 
she passed. By the time she got to Corsock, however, she 
was beginning to feel the strain severely. She was hot 


210 


LADY ATHLYNE 


and nervous and wearied; only the imperative need of 
getting on, and getting on quickly, enabled her to keep 
up at all. At Corsock she stopped to ask the way, but 
found it hard to understand the Lowland Scotch in which 
directions for her guidance were given. The result was 
that she started afresh with a blank despair gripping at 
her heart. Already she felt that her effort to reach home 
in time was destined to failure. The time seemed to fly 
so fast, the miles to be so long. She even began to feel a 
nervous doubt as to whether she should even be able to 
send word to her father. East of Corsock the nature of the 
road is confusing to a stranger. There are bye-roads lead- 
ing south and up northwards into the mountains; and Urr 
Water has to be crossed. Joy began to lose the perspective 
of things ; her doubts as to whether she was on the right 
road became oppressive. Somehow, things were changing 
round her. Look where she would, she could not see the 
hill tops that had been her landmarks. A mist was coming 
from the right hand — that was the south, where was Solway 
Firth. Then she gave up heart altogether. There came to 
her woman’s breast the reaction from all the happy excite- 
ment of the day. It was too bright to last. And now came 
this shadow of trouble worse even than the mist which 
seemed to presage it , . . Oh, if only He were with 

her now . . . He! . . . Strange it was that in all 
that day she had not once spoken to him by name. “ Dear ” 
or “ Darling ” seemed more suitable when her hand was 
in his; when he was kissing her. She closed her eyes in 
an ecstasy of delightful remembrance . .. * She was 
recalled to herself by a sudden jar; in her momentary for- 
getfulness she had run up a bank. 

It was a shock to her when her eyes opened to see how 
different were her surroundings from her thoughts. Those 
flours wflen tfley sat together where the sunbeams stole 
through the trees would afford her many a comparison in 
the time to come. All was now dark and dank and chill. 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 21 1 

The mist was thickening every instant; she could hardly 
see the road ahead of her. 

However, she had to go on, mist or no mist; at least 
till she should reach some place whence she could telegraph 
to her father. With a pang she realised that she must not 
wire also to Him as she would have loved to have done. 
It would only upset and alarm him, poor fellow! and he 
had quite anxiety enough in thinking of her already ! . . . 
With a heavy heart she crawled along through the mist, 
steering by the road-bed as well as she could, keeping a 
sharp look-out for cross-roads and all the dangers of the 
way. 

The time seemed to fly, but not the car; the road appeared 
to be endless* Would she never come to any hospitable 
place I ... It was a surprise to her when she came on 
straggling cottages, and found herself between double 
rows of houses. Painted over a door she saw “ Crocketford 
Post-Office.’^ In her heart she thanked God that she was 
still on the right road, though she had only as yet come 
some dozen or more miles. It seemed as if a week had 
passed since she left Dairy . . . and . . . She 

drew up to the post-office and went in. There she sent a 
wire : 

Went out motoring caught here in mist am going on 
however but must arrive very late so do not be anxious 
about me. Love to Mother and Aunt Judy and dear Daddy. 

Joy.” 

When she had handed it in she looked at her watch. It 
was only half-past five o’clock ! 

It was still therefore on the verge of possibility that she 
might get back in time. She hurried out. Several people 
had gathered round the motor, which was throbbing away 
after the manner of motors, as though impatient to get 
to real work. A policeman who was amongst them, seeing 
that she was about to go on, suggested that she should 
have her lamps lit as it would be a protection as well as 


212 


LADY ATHLYNE 


a help to her in the mist. She was about to say that she 
thought it would be better not ; for she did not know any- 
thing about acetylene lamps and feared to expose her igno- 
rance, when he very kindly offered to light them for her: 

“ Tis no wark for a bonny leddy ! ” he said in self- 
justification of bending his official dignity to the occasion. 
She felt that his courtesy demanded some explanation, and 
also that such explanation would, be accounting for her 
being all alone, avoid any questioning. So said sweetly : 

“Thank you so much, officer. I really do not know 
much about lamps myself and I had to leave my . . . 
my husband, who was driving, at Dairy. He was going 
too fast, and your people had a word to say to him. How- 
ever, I can get on all right now. This is straight road 
to Dumfries is it not ? ” The road was pointed out and 
instructions given to keep the high road to Dumfries. With 
better heart and more courage than heretofore she drove 
out into the mist. There was comfort for her in the glare 
of the powerful lights always thrown out in front of her. 

All went well now. The road was distinctly good, and 
the swift smooth motion restored her courage. When in 
about half an hour she began to note the cottages and 
houses grouping in the suburbs of Dumfries she got elated. 
She was now well on the way to England ! She knew from 
experience that the road to Annan, by which they had come, 
was fairly level. She did not mind the mist so much, now 
that she was accustomed to it; and she expected that as it 
was driving up northwards from the Firth she would be 
free from it altogether when she should have passed the 
Border and was on her way south to Carlisle. 

In the meanwhile she was more anxious than as yet. 
The mist seemed to have settled down more here than in 
the open country. There were lights in many windows 
in the suburbs, and the street lamps were lit. It is strange 
how the perspective of lines of lamps gets changed when 
one is riding or driving or cycling in mist or fog. If one 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 213 

kept the centre of the road it would be all right; but as 
one keeps of necessity to the left the lines between the 
lamps which guide the eye change with each instant. The 
effect is that straight lines appear to be curved; and if 
the driver loses nerve and trusts to appearances he will 
soon come to grief. This was Joy’s first experience of 
driving in mist, and she naturally fell into the error. She 
got confused as to the right and wrong side of the road. 
She had to fight against the habit of her life, which 
instinctively took command when her special intention was 
in abeyance. She knew that from Dumfries the road 
dropped to the south-east and as the curve seemed away 
to the left from her side of the road she, thinking that the 
road to the left was the direct road, naturally inclined 
towards the right hand, when she came to a place where 
there were roads to choose. There was no one about from 
whom to ask the way; and she feared to descend from the 
car to look for a sign-post. The onus of choice was on 
her, and she took the right hand thinking it was straight 
ahead. For some time now she had been going slow, and 
time and distance had both spun out to infinitude; she had 
lost sense of both. She was tired, wearied to death with 
chagrin and responsibility. Everything around her was 
new and strange and unknown, and so was full of terrors. 
She did not know how to choose. She feared to ask lest 
the doing so might land her in new embarrassments. She 
knew that unless she got home in something like reasonable 
time her father would be not only deeply upset but furiously 
angry — and all that anger would be visited on Him. Oh 
she must get on ! It was too frightful to contemplate what 
might happen should she have to be out all night . . . 

and after having gone out with a man against whom her 
father had already a grievance, though he owed him so 
much 1 

The change in the road, however, gave her some conso- 
lation ; it was straight and smooth, and as the wind was 


LADY ATHLYNE 


214 

now more in her face she felt that she was making south- 
ward. But her physical difficulties were increasing. The 
wind was much stronger, and the mist came boiling up 
so fast that her goggles got blurred more than ever. Every- 
thing around her was becoming wet. 

For a few miles — she could only guess at the distance — 
all went well, and she got back some courage. She still 
went slowly and carefully; she did not mean to have any 
mischance now if she could help it. It would not be so 
very long before she was over the Border. Then most 
likely she would be out of the mist and she could put on 
more speed. 

Presently she felt that the car was going up a steep 
incline. When it had been running swiftly she had not 
felt such, but now it was apparent. It was not a big hill, 
however, and the run down the other side was exhilarating, 
though the fear of some obstacle in front damped such 
pleasure as there was. Even then the pace was not fast; 
ordinarily it would have been considered as little better 
than a rapid crawl. For a while, not long but seeming 
more than long, the road was up-and-down till she saw in 
the dimness of the mist glimpses of houses, then a few 
gleams of light from the chinks of shut windows. Here 
she went very slowly and tooted often. She feared she 
might do some harm; and the slightest harm now might 
mean delay. She breathed more freely when she was out 
in the open again. That episode of the arrest and the pro- 
longed agitation which followed it had unnerved her more 
than she had thought; and now the mist and the darkness 
and the uncertainty were playing havoc with her. It was 
only when she was long past the little place that she 
regretted she had not stopped to ask if she was on the 
right road. There was nothing for it, however, but to go 
on. The road was all up and down, up and down; but 
the surface was fairly good, and as the powerful lamps 
showed her sufficient space ahead to steer she moved along, 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 215 

though it had to be with an agonising slowness. How 
different it all was, she thought, from that fairy-chariot 
driving with Him in the morning. The road then seemed 
straight and level, and movement was an undiluted pleasure ! 
For an instant she closed her wearied eyes as she sighed at 
the change — and ran off the road-bed. 

Happily she was going slowly and recovered herself 
before more than the front wheels were on the rough mass 
of old road-scrapings. In a couple of seconds she had 
backed off and was under way again. She was preter- 
naturally keen now in her outlook. She felt the strain 
acutely; for the road seemed to be always curving away 
from her. Moreover there was another cause of concern. 
Night was coming on. Even in the densest mist or the 
blackest fog the light or darkness of the sky is to some 
degree apparent. Now the sense came on her that over 
the thick mist was darkness. She stopped a moment and 
getting out looked at her watch in the light of the lamps. 

Her heart fell away, away. It was now close to eight 
o’clock. There was no use worrying she felt; nothing to 
be done but to go on, carefully for the present. When she 
made up her mind to the worst, her courage began to come 
back and she could think. She felt that as the wind was 
now strongly in her face she must be nearing the Firth, and 
that in time she would pass the Border and be heading for 
home and father. She jumped into her seat and was off 
again. 

The fog — she realised now that it was not mist but fog — 
was thicker than ever ; the wind being strongly in her face, 
it seemed above the glare of the powerful lamps, to come 
boiling up out of the roadway which she could see but 
dimly. Fear, vague and gaunt, began to overshadow her. 
But there was no use worrying or thinking of anything ex- 
cept the immediate present which took the whole of her 
thought and attention. In the face of her surroundings 
she dared not go fast, dared not stop. And so for a time 


2I6 


LADY ATHLYNE 


that seemed endless she pressed on through the fog. Pres- 
ently she became aware that the wind was now not so much 
in her teeth. As she was steering by the road-bed she did 
not notice curves; there was no doubt as to her route, as 
there did not seem to be any divergent roads at all. On, 
on, on, on ! A road full of hills, not very high nor especially 
steep but enough to keep a driver on constant watch-out. 

At last she felt that she was close to the sea. The wind 
came fiercely, and the drifting fog seen against the luminous 
area round the lamps seemed like a whirlpool. There was 
a salt smell in the air. This gave her some hope. If this 
were the Firth she must be close to the Border and would 
soon be at the bridge over which they had entered Scotland. 
Instinctively she went forward faster. And at last there 
surely was a bridge. A narrow enough bridge it was; as 
she went slowly across it she wondered how it was that 
they had seemed to fly over it in the morning. 

However she could go on now in new hope. She was in 
England and bye and bye she would come through the 
fog-belt, and having passed Carlisle would drop down 
through the Lake roads to Ambleside. Though the fog 
was .dense as ever she did not feel the wind so much ; she 
crowded on — she did not dare go much faster as yet and as 
she was now climbing a long steep hill she ceased to notice it. 
After a while, when there came a stronger puff than usual, 
she noticed that it was on her back — the high hood of the 
car had protected her for some time past. After a little 
however the old fear came back upon her. At the present 
rate of progress to reach home at any time, however late, 
seemed an impossibility. And all was so dark, and the fog 
was so dense ; and the road didn’t seem a bit like that they 
had come by between Carlisle and the Border. All at once 
she found that she was crying — crying bitterly. She did 
not want to stop the car, and so dared not take her hands 
from the wheel, even to find her pocket-handkerchief. She 
wept and wept; wept her heart out, whilst all the time 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 217 

mechanically steering by the light of the lamps on the road. 
Her weeping aided the density of the fog, and with her 
eyes set on the road and the driving wheel in her hands she 
did not notice that she was going between houses. She 
came to a bridge, manifestly of a little more importance 
than the one she had already passed, and crossed it. The 
road swayed away to the left; presently this was crossed 
by another almost at right angles, but she kept straight on. 
There was no one from whom to ask the way ; and had there 
been anyone she probably would not have seen him. A 
little way on there was another cross-road but of minor 
importance ; then further on she came to a place of difficult 
choice. Another cross-road, again almost at right angles; 
but the continuance of the road she was on showed it to be 
but a poor road ill-kept. So, too, was that to her left ; but 
the road to the right was broad and well kept. It was un- 
doubtedly the main road; and so keeping to the rule she 
had hitherto obeyed, she followed it. 

She was now feeling somehow in better heart; the fit of 
crying had relieved her, and some of her courage had come 
back. She wanted comforting — wanted it badly ; but those 
whose comfort only could prevail were far away; one be- 
hind her in Scotland, the others still far away at Ambleside. 
The latter thought made her desperate. She put on more 
speed — and with her thoughts and anxieties not in the 
present but the future, ran up a steep bank. There was a 
' quick snap of something in front of the car; the throbbing 
' of the engine suddenly ceased. With the shock she had 
i been thrown forward upon the wheel, but fortunately the 
1 speed had not been great enough to cause her serious injury, 
i The lamps made the fog sufficiently luminous for her move- 
j ments, and she scrambled out of the car. She knew she 
I could do nothing, for she was absolutely ignorant of the 
j| mechanism, and she had no mechanical skill. The only 
thing she could do was to go along the road on the blind 
I chance of meeting or finding some one who could help her. 


2i8 


LADY ATHLYNE 


or who might be able to assist her in finding better help. 
And so with a heavy heart, and feet that felt like lead, she 
went out into the fog. It was a wrench for her to leave 
the car which in the darkness and the unknown mystery 
of the fog seemed by comparison a sort of home or shelter. 
It was an evidence of the mechanical habit of the mind, 
which came back to her later, that through all her weariness 
and distress she thought to pin up her white frock before 
setting out on the dusty journey. 

It was astonishing how soon the little patch of light dis- 
appeared. When she had taken but a few steps she looked 
back and found all as dark as it was before her. One thing 
alone there was which saved her from utter despair : the 
fog seemed not to be so absolutely dense. In reality it was 
not that the fog had lessened, but that her eyes, so long 
accustomed to the glare of the lamps which had prevented 
her seeing beyond the radius of their power, had now come 
back to their normal focus. Though the darkness seemed 
more profound than ever, since there was no point of light 
whatever, she was actually able to see better. After all, 
this fog was a sea mist unladen with city smoke, and its 
darkness was a very different thing from the Cimmerian 
gloom of a city fog. To her, not accustomed to winter 
fogs, it was difficult and terrifying. When, however, she 
began to realise, though unconsciously, that the nebulous 
wall in front of her fell back with every step she 
took, her heart began to beat more regularly, and she 
breathed more freely. It was a terrible position for a 
delicately nurtured girl to be in. Though she was a brave 
girl with a full share of self-reliance her absolute ignorance 
of all around her — even as to what part of the country she 
was in — had a somewhat paralysing effect upon her. How- 
ever she had courage and determination. Her race as well 
as her nature told for her. Her heart might beat hard and 
her feet be heavy but at any rate she would go on her set 
road whilst life and strength and consciousness remained 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 219 

to her. She shut her teeth, and in blind despair moved for- 
ward in the fog. 

In all her after life Joy could never recall the detail of 
that terrible walk. Like most American girls she was un- 
used to long walks; and after a couple of miles she felt 
wearied to death. The long emotional strain of the day 
had told sorely on her strength, and the hopeless nerve- 
racking tramp on the unknown road through the gloom and 
mystery of the fog had sapped her natural strength. Look- 
ing back on that terrible journey she could remember no 
one moment from the other, from the time that she lost sight 
of the lamps until she found herself in a dip in the road 
passing under a railway bridge. The recognition of the 
fact reanimated her. It was an evidence that there was 
some kind of civilisation somewhere — a fact that she had 
begun in a vague way to doubt. She would follow that line 
if she could, for it must lead her to some place where she 
might find help ; where she could send reassuring word to 
her father, and where there would be shelter. Shelter! At 
the first gleam of hope her own deplorable position was 
forced upon her, and she realised all at once her desperate 
weariness. She could now hardly drag herself along. 

Beyond the railway there was a branch road to the left ; 
and this she determined to follow, rather than the main 
road which went away from the line. She stumbled along 
it as well as she could. The time seemed endless. In her 
weariness the flicker of hope which her juxtaposition to the 
railway had given her died soon away. The fog seemed 
denser, and the darkness blacker than ever. 

The road dipped again under the line; she was glad of 
that ; manifestly she was not straying from it. She hurried 
on instinctively; found the road wider, and rougher with 
much use. Her heart beat hard once again, but this time 
it was with hope. 

And then, right in front of her, was a dim gleam of light. 
This so overcame her that she had to sit down for a moment 


220 


LADY ATHLYNE 


on the road side. The instant’s rest cheered her; she 
jumped to her feet as though her strength had been at once 
restored. Feeling in her heart a prayer which her lips had 
not time to utter, she climbed over a wire fence between her 
and the light; stumbled across a rough jumble of sleepers 
and railway irons. Then the light was over her head — the 
rays were manifest on the fog. She called out : 

“Hullo! Hullo! Is there any one awake?” Almost 
instantly the window through which the light shone was 
opened and a man looked out : 

“Aye! A’m awake! Did ye think A’d be sleepin’ on a 
nicht like this. ’Tis nae time for a signal-man to be aught 
but awake A’m tellin’ ye.” 

“ Thank God, oh thank God ! ” Joy’s heart was too full 
for the moment to say more. The man leaned further 
out: 

“ Is yon a lassie ? What are ye daein’ here a nicht like 
this ? Phew ! A canna see ma ain bond ! ” 

“Yes, I’m a girl and I’m lost. Will you let me come 
in ? ” The man’s voice became instantly suspicious. 

“ Na! na! A canna let ye in. ’Tis no in accord wi’ the 
Company’s rules to let a lassie intil the signal-box. Why 
don’t ye go intil the toon ? ” 

“ Oh do let me in for a moment,” she pleaded. “ I have 
been lost in the fog, and my motor broke down. I have 
had to walk so far that I am wearied and tired and fright- 
ened; and the sight of a light and the hope of help has 
finished me ! ” She sat right down on the ground and began 
to cry. He heard her sob, and it woke all the man in him. 
This was no wandering creature whose presence at such 
a time and place might make trouble for him. He knew 
from the voice that the woman was young and refined. 

“ Dinna greet puir lassie ! — Dinna greet. A canna leave 
the box for an instant lest a signal come. But go roond 
to the recht and ye’ll find a door. Come recht up ! Rules 
or no rules A’m no gangin’ to let ye greet there all by yer 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 221 

lanes. There’s fire here, and when ye’re warmed A can 
direct ye on yer way intil the toon ! ” 

With glad steps she groped her way to the door. A 
flood of light seemed to meet her when she opened it, and 
she hurried up the steep stairs to where the signal-man 
held open the upper door. 

“ Coom in lassie an hae a soop o’ ma tea. ’Tis fine and 
warrm ! . . . Coom in and let me offer ye some refresh- 
ment, an’ if A may mak sae bold may A offer ye all A hae 
that’ll warm ye ? Coom in ma’am. Coom in ma leddie ! ” 
he said in a crescendo of welcome and respect as he saw 
Joy’s fine motor coat and recognised her air of distinc- 
tion. 

Glad indeed was Joy to drink from the worthy fellow’s 
tin tea-bottle which rested beside the stove ; glad to sit down 
in front of the fire. Then indeed she felt the magnitude 
of her weariness, and in a minute would have been asleep. 

But the thought of her father, and all that depended on 
her action and his knowledge, wakened her to full intel- 
lectual activity. She stood up at once and said quickly: 

What place is this ? ” 

“ The signal-box of Castle Douglas Junction.” 

And where is that ? I think I have heard the name 
before.” 

“Tis a toon as they ca’ it here. The junction is o’ the 
Glasgie an’ South Western, the Caledonian, the Port Pat- 
rich an’ Wigtownshire, the London an’ North Western, an’ 
the Midland lines. But for short there are but twa. One 
frae Kirkcudbright, an’ th’ ither frae Newton Stewart.” 

“ In what country are we ? ” Seeing the astonishment 
in his face she went on : “I am an American, and not 
familiar with the district. We came from England this 
morning — from Westmoreland — from Ambleside — and I 
am confused about the Border. I had to drive myself be- 
cause my — we got into trouble for driving fast, and I had 
to come on alone. And then the fog overtook me. I went 


222 


LADY ATHLYNE 


along as well as I could. Are we anywhere near Carlisle ? ” 
Her face fell as she saw the shake of his head : 

“ Eh ma leddie but ye’re mony a mile frae Carlisle. ’Tis 
over fifty miles be the line. Ye maun hae lost yer way 
sair. Ye’re in Kirkcudbright-shire the noo.” Her heart 
sank: 

“ Oh I must send a telegram at once.” 

''Ye canna telegraph the nicht ma leddie ! The office is 
closed till eight the morn’s morn.” 

" My God ! What shall I do. My father arrived from 
London to-night and he does not know where I am. I came 
out for a drive and thought to be back in good time to 
meet him. He will be in despair. Is there no way in which 
I can send word ? It is not a matter of expenses ; I shall 
pay anything if it can be done ! ” She looked at him in an 
agony of apprehension. The man was stirred by the depth 
of emotion and by her youth and beauty; and his clever 
Scotch brain began to work. His mouth set fast in a hard 
line and his rough heavy brows began to wrinkle. After a 
pause he said: 

" A’ll do what A can, ma leddie ; though A can’t be sure 
if ’twill wark. The telegraphs are closed. Even if we 
could find an operator it wouldn’t be possible to get the 
wires. Our own lines are closed, for we’ll hae no traffic 
till morn.” Here an idea struck Joy and she interrupted 
him: 

" Could I not get a special train ? I am willing to pay 
anything ? ” 

" Lord love ye, ma leddy, they don’t have specials on 
bit lines like this. Ye couldn’t get one nigher than Glasgie. 
an’ not there at this time o’ day. Let alone they’d no send 
in such a fog anyhow. But I’m thinkin’ that A can telephone 
to Dumfries. The operator o’ oor line there is a freend o’ 
mine, an’ if he’s on dooty he’ll telephone on to Carlisle 
wheer there’s sure to be some one at the place. An’ may- 
hap the latter’ll telephone on till Ambleside. So, if there 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 223 

be any awake there, they’ll send to the hotel. Is it a hotel 
yer faither’ll be in ? ” 

Oh thank you, thank you,” said Joy seizing his hand in 
a burst of gratitude. I’ll be for ever grateful to you if 
you’ll be so good ! ” 

A’m thinkin’ ” he went on that perhaps ’twill cost 
yer ladyship a mickle — ^perhaps a muckle; but A dar say 
ye’ll no mind that . . 

“ Oh no, no ! It will be pleasure to pay anything. See, 
I have plenty of money ! ” She pulled out her purse. 

‘‘ Na ! na ! Not yet ma leddie. ’Tis no for masel — 
unless yer ladyship insists on it, later on. ’Tis for the 
laddies that will do what they can. Ye see there may be 
some trouble o’er this. We signal-men and offeecials gen- 
erally are not supposed to attend to aught outside o’ the 
routine. But if it should be that there is trouble to us 
puir folk, A’m sure yer ladyship an’ some o’ yer graan’ 
freens’ll no see us wranged ! ” 

“ Oh no indeed. My father and Mr. and all our 

friends will see to it that you shall never suffer, no matter 
what happens.” 

“ Well now, ma leddy — if ye’ll joost write down your 
message A’ll do what A can. But ’twill be wiser if ye 
gang awa intil a hotel an’ rest ye. A can send the message 
better when A’m quit o’ ye. Forbye ye see ’tis no quite 
respectable to hae a bonny lassie here ower lang. Ma wife 
is apt to be a wee jalous; an’ it’s no wise to gie cause where 
nane there is.” 

But I do not know where to go — ” she began. He 
interrupted her hastily: 

“ There’s a graan hotel i’ the toon — verra fine it is ; but 
A’m thinkin’ that yer ladyship, bein’ by yer lonesome, may 
rather care to go to a quieter house. An’ as A’d recom- 
mend ye to seek the ‘ Walter Scott ’ hotel. ’Tis kep by 
verra decent folk, an’ though small is verra respectable 
an’ verra clean. Say that yer kent by Tammas Macpherson 


LADY ATHLYNE 


224 

an’ that will vouch for ye, seein’ that ye’re a bit lassie by yer 
lanes. ’Tis a most decent place entirely, an’ A’m tellin’ ye 
that the Sheriff o’ Galloway himsel’ aye rests there when 
he comes to the toon.” 

Joy wrote her message on the piece of paper which he 
had provided whilst speaking: 

‘‘ To Col. Ogilvie, Inn of Greeting, Ambleside : Dearest ^ 
Daddy I have been caught in a heavy fog and lost, but » 
happily found my way here. I shall return by the first J 
train in the morning. Love to mother. I am well and ' 
safe. Joy.” 

Then the signal man gave her explicit directions as to 
finding the house. As she was going away he said with a 
diffident anxiety: ' 

“ To what figure will yer ladyship gang in this — this 
meenistration ? A’d joost like to ken in case o’ neceesity? ” 
She answered quickly: 

“ Oh anything you like — twenty-five dollars — I mean five 
pounds — ten pounds — twenty — a hundred, anything, any- 
thing so that my father gets the message soon.” He looked : 
amazed for a moment. Then as he held open the door de- 
ferentially he said in a voice in which awe blended with ? 
respect : 

“Dinna fash yerself more ma leddie. Yer message will ! 
gang for sure; an’ gang quick. Ye may sleep easy the j 
nicht, an’ wi’out a thocht o’ doobt. An ’ll leave wi’ ma kins- ^ 
man Jamie Macpherson o’ the Walter Scott ma neem an’ \ 
address in case yer ladyship wishes me to send to yon the 
memorandum o’ the twenty poons.” \ 

Joy found her way without much difficulty to the Walter | 
Scott. The house was all shut up, but she knocked and | 
rang; and presently the door was unchained and opened. !j 
The Boots looked for a moment doubtful when he saw a 
lady alone; but when she said: < 

“ I am lost in the fog, and Mr. Thomas Macpherson of 
the railway told me I should get lodging here,” he opened 


225 


A PAINFUL JOURNEY 

the door wide and she walked in. He chained the door, 
and left her for a few minutes ; but returned with a young 
woman who eyed her up and down somewhat suspiciously. 
Joy seemed to smell danger and said at once: 

I got lost in the fog, and the motor met with an accident. 
So I had to leave it on the road and walk on.’^ 

** An’ your shawfer ? ” asked the doubting young woman. 

** He got into trouble for driving too fast, and had to be 
left behind.” 

“ Very weel, ma’am. What name shall A put down? ” 

Joy’s mind had been working. Her tiredness and her 
sleepiness were brushed aside by the pert young woman’s 
manifest suspicion. She remembered Mr. Hardy’s caution 
not to give her own name; and now, face to face with a 
direct query, remembered and used the one which had 
been given to her on the Cryptic. It had this advantage 
that it would put aside any suspicion or awkwardness aris- 
ing from her unprotected position, arriving as she did in 
such an un-accredited way. So she answered at once: 

‘‘ Athlyne. Lady Athlyne ! ” The young woman seemed 
impressed. Saying : “ Excuse me a moment ” she went 

into the bar where she lit a candle. She came back in a 
moment and said very deferentially: 

“ It’s ’all recht yer ladyship. There’s twa rooms, a sittin’- 
room an’ a bed-room. They were originally kept for the 
Sheriff, but he sent word that he was no cornin’. So when 
the wire came frae th’ ither pairty the rooms were kept 
for him. When no one arrived the name was crossed aff 
the slate. But it’s a’ recht! Shall I light a fire yer 
Leddyship ? ” 

'' Oh no I I only require a bedroom. I must get away by 
the first train in the morning. I shall just lie down as I 
am. If you can get me a glass of milk and a biscuit that 
is all I require. If it were possible I should like the milk 
hot; but if that is not convenient it won’t matter.” As 
they went upstairs the girl said: 


226 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“Ye’ll forgie me yer Leddyship, but I didna ken wha 
ye were. Mrs. Macpherson was early up to bed the nicht, 
when the fog had settled doon and she knew there was no 
more traffic. To-morrow is a heavy day here, and things 
keep up late ; and she wanted to be ready for it. An’ she’s 

michty discreet aboot ony cornin’ here wi’oot — wi’oot ” 

She realised that she was getting into deep water and turned 
the conversation. “ There is yer candle lit. The fire in 
the kitchen is hearty yet, an’ I’ll bring yer milk hot in the 
half-o’ two-twos. I’ll leave word that ye’re to be called in 
good time in the morn.” 

Within a few minutes she came back with the hot milk. 
Joy was too tired and too anxious to eat; and refusing all 
proffers of service and of help as to clothing, bade the 
gir! good night. She just drank the milk; and having 
divested herself of her shoes and stockings which were 
soiled with travel and of all but her under-clothing, crept 
in between the sheets. The warmth and the luxury of rest 
began to tell at once; within a very few minutes she was 
sound asleep. 


CHAPTER XVII 


THE SHERIFF 

It was late in the afternoon when the Sheriff rode into 
Dairy. The police sergeant spoke to him, and he kindly 
came into the statical. There the sergeant put the matter 
before him. He was an elderly man, hearty and genial and 
with a pleasant manner which made every man his friend. 
When he heard the details of the case, regarding which the 
policeman asked his advice, he smiled and took snuff and 
said pleasantly to the officer: 

“ I don’t think ye need be uneasy in your mind. After 
all ’tis only a matter of a fine ; and as the chauffeur is ready 
to pay it, whatever it may be; and is actually in your 
custody having as you say more than sufficient money upon 
him to pay the maximum penalty hereto inflicted for furious 
driving in this shire, I think you will not get much blame 
for allowing the lady to go away in the car to a * foreign 
country,’ as you call it. I suppose sir ” turning to Athlyne 
“ you can get good bail if required ? ” 

“ I think so ” said Athlyne smiling. I suppose a 
Deputy Lieutenant of Ross Shire is good enough ; ” where- 
upon he introduced himself to the Sheriff. They chatted 
together a few minutes and then, as he went to his horse 
which a policeman was holding at the door, he said to the 
sergeant : 

‘‘ I must not, as Sheriff, be bail myself. But if any bail 
is required I undertake to get it; so I think you needn^t 
detain his lordship any longer. You’d better serve the sum- 
mons on him for the next Session and, then everything will 
be in order.” 

Athlyne walked down the village with him, he leading his 
horse. When he knew that Athlyne was going to walk to 

227 


228 LADY ATHLYNE 

Castle Douglas so as to be ready to catch his train to the 
south he said : 

“ To-morrow is a busy day there and you may find it 
hard to get rooms at the Douglas, especially as the fog will 
detain many travellers. Now. I had my rooms reserved at 
the Walter Scott, kept by an old servant of mine, where 
I always stay. An hour gone I wired countermanding 
them as I am going to stay the night with Mulgrave of 
Ennisfour where I am dining; so perhaps you had better 
wire over and secure them. I shall be there myself in the 
morning as I have work in Castle Douglas, but that need 
not interfere with you. If you go early you may be off 
before I get there.” 

“ I do not want to go South very early ; so I hope you will 
breakfast with me if I am still there.” The genial old 
Sheriff shook his head: 

“ No, no. You must breakfast with me. I am in my 
own bailiwick and you must let me be your host.” 

“ All right ! ” said Athlyne heartily. The old man who 
had been looking at him kindly all the time now said : 

** Tell me now — and you won’t think me rude or inquisi- 
tive ; but you’re a young man and I’m an old one, and more- 
over sheriff — can I do anything for you? The Sergeant 
told me you were in a state of desperate anxiety to get 
away — or at any rate to let the lady get off ; and I couldn’t 
help noticing myself that you are still anxious. The police- 
man said she was young, and much upset about it all. Can 
I serve you in any way? If I can, it will I assure you be 
a pleasure to me.” He was so frank and kind and hearty 
that Athlyne’s heart warmed to him. Moreover he was 
upset himself, poor fellow ; and though he was a man and a 
strong one, was more than glad to unburden his heart to 
some one who would be a sympathetic listener: 

“ The fact is, sir, that the young lady who was with me 
came for a drive from Ambleside and we came on here on 
the spur of the moment. Her father had gone to London 


THE SHERIFF 


229 


and returns this evening; and as no one knew that I — 
that she had gone out motoring he will be anxious about 
her. Naturally neither she nor I wish to make him angry. 
You will understand when I tell you that she and I are en- 
gaged to be married. He does not know this — though ” 
here he remembered the letter he had posted at Ambleside 
“ he will doubtless know soon. Unhappily he had some mis- 
taken idea about me. A small matter which no one here 
would give a second thought to : but he is a Kentuckian and 
they take some things very much to heart. This was nothing 
wrong — not in any way ; but all the same his taking further 
offence at me, as he would do if he heard from someone 
else that she had been motoring with me without his sanc- 
tion, might militate against her happiness — and mine. So 
you can imagine Mr. Sheriff, how grateful I am to you 
for your kindness.'' The sheriff paused before replying. 
He had been thinking — putting two and two together: 
“ They are engaged — ^but her father doesn't know it. Then 
the engagement was made only to-day. No wonder they 
were upset and anxious. No wonder he drove fast. . . . 

Ah, Youth ! Youth ! " . . . 

“ I understand, my lord. Well, you did quite right to get 
the lady away; though it was a hazardous thing for her to 
start off alone in the mist." 

“ It hadn't come on then, sir. Had it been so I should 
never have let her go alone — no matter what the conse- 
quences might be ! But I hope she's out of it and close to 
home by this time." 

‘'Aye that's so. Still she was wise to go. It avoids all 
possibility of scandal. Poor bairn ! I'm hoping she got off 
South before the fog came on too thick. It's drifting up 
from the Firth so that when once she would have crossed 
the Border most like it would have been clear enow. Any- 
how under the circumstances you are right to stay here. 
Then there can be no talk whatever. And her father will 
have had time to cool down by the time ye meet. 


LADY ATHLYNE 


^30 

We’re parting here, my Lord. Good-bye and let me 
wish ye both every form of human happiness. Perhaps by 
mom you will have had some news; and I’m hoping ye’ll 
be able to tell me of her safe arrival.” 

At the cross roads the men parted. The Sheriff rode on 
his way to Ennisfour, and Athlyne went back to Dairy. He 
ordered his dinner, and then went out to send a telegram 
at the little post office. His telegram ran: 

To Walter Scott Hotel Castle Douglas 

Keep rooms given up by Sheriff for to-night. 

Athlyne. 

He had written the telegram through without a pause. 
The signature was added unhesitatingly, though not merely 
instinctively. He had done with falsity; henceforth he 
would use his own name, and that only. He felt freer than 
he had done for many a day. 

He ate his dinner quietly; he was astonished at himself 
that he could take matters so calmly. It was really that he 
now realised that he had done all he could. There was 
nothing left but to wait. In the earlier part of that waiting 
he was disturbed and anxious. Difficulties and dangers and 
all possible matters of concern obtruded themselves upon 
his thought in endless succession. But as time wore on 
the natural optimism of his character began to govern his 
thinking. Reason still worked freely enough, but she took 
her orders from the optimistic side and brought up arrays 
of comforting facts and deductions. 

It was with renewed heart and with a hopeful spirit that 
he set out on his road to Castle Douglas. He had delib- 
erately chosen to walk instead of taking a carriage or riding. 
He did not want to arrive early in the evening, and he cal- 
culated that the sixteen miles would take him somewhere 
about four hours to walk. The exercise would, whilst it 
killed the time which he had to get through, give him if not 


THE SHERIFF 


231 


ease of miiid at least some form of mental distraction. Such, 
he felt, must be his present anodyne — his guarantee of 
sanity. As he had no luggage of any kind he felt perfectly 
free ; the only addition to his equipment was a handful of 
cigars to last him during the long walk. 

He had left Dairy some miles behind him when he began 
to notice the thickening of the mist. After a while when 
this became only too apparent he began to hesitate as to 
whether it would not be wiser to return. By this time he 
realised that it was no mere passing cloud of vapour which 
was driving up from the south, but a sea fog led inward 
through the narrowing Firth; he could smell the iodine of 
the sea in his nostrils. But he decided to go on his way. 
He remembered fairly well the road which he had traversed 
earlier in the day. Though a rough road and somewhat 
serpentine as it followed the windings of the Ken and the 
Dee, it was so far easy to follow that there were no bifurca- 
tions and few cross-roads. And so with resolute heart — 
for there was something to overcome here — and difficulty 
meant to him distraction from pain — he pushed on into the 
growing obscurity of the fog. 

On the high ground above Shirmers he felt the wind 
driving more keenly in his face ; but he did not pause. He 
trudged on hopefully ; every step he took was bringing him 
closer to England — and to Joy. Now it was that he felt 
the value of the stout walking cudgel that he had purchased 
from a passing drover. For in the fog he was like a blind 
man ; sight needed the friendly aid of touch. 

But it was dreadfully slow work, and at the end of a 
few hours he was wearied out with the overwhelming sense 
of impotence and the ceaseless struggling with the tiniest 
details of hampered movement. Being on foot and of slow 
progress he had one advantage over travelling on horse- 
back or in a vehicle : he was able to take advantage of every 
chance opportunity of enlightenment. From passing 
pedestrians and at wayside cottages he gathered directions 


LADY ATHLYNE 


232 

for his guidance. It was midnight — the town clock was 
striking— when he entered Castle Douglas and began to 
inquire his way to the Walter Scott hotel. 

After repeated knocking the door was opened by the 
Boots — a heavy, thick-headed, sleepy, tousled man, surly 
and grudging of speech. Athlyne pushed past him into the 
hall way and said: 

“ I wired here in the afternoon to have kept for me the 
Sheriff’s rooms. Did my telegram arrive.” 

' “ Aye. It kem a’recht. But that was all that kem. Ye 
was expectit, an’ the missis kep the rooms for ye till late; 
but when ye didna come she gied ye up an’ let anither 
pairty that was lost i’ the fog hae the bedroom. All that’s 
left is the parlour, an that we can hae an ye will. Forbye 
that ye’ll hae to sleep on the sofy. A’m thinkin’ it’s weel 
it’s o’er long than ordinair’, for ye’re no a ween yersel. 
Bide wheer y’ are, an’ A’ll fetch ye a rug or two an’ a 
cushion. Ye maun put up wi’ them the nicht for ye’ll git 
nane ither here.” He left him standing in the dark; and 
shuffled away down a dim stairway, to the basement. 

In a few minutes he re-appeared with a bundle of rugs 
and pillows under his arm; in his hand was a bottle of 
whiskey, with the drawn cork partly re-inserted. With 
the deftness of an accomplished servitor he carried in his 
other hand, together with the candle, a pitcher of water 
and a tumbler. As he went up the staircase he said in a 
whisper : 

“ Man, walk saft ^ ye gang ; an’ dinna cough nor sneeze 
or mak’ a soond in the room or ye’ll maybe waken th’ 
ither body. Joost gang like a man at a carry in’. An’ 
mind ye dinna snore! Lie ye like a bairn! What time 
shall A ca’ ye ? ” 

“ I want to catch the morning train for the south.” 

“ That’ll be a’recht. A’ll ca’ ye braw an’ airly ! ” 

“ Good night ! ” said Athlyne as he softly closed the door. 

He spread one rug on the sofa, which supplemented by 


THE SHERIFF 


233 


a chair, was of sufficient length; put the other ready to 
cover himself, and fixed the cushions. Having stripped to 
his flannels he blew out the candle, and, without making a 
sound, turned in. He was wearied in mind and nerve and 
body, and the ease of lying down acted like a powerful 
narcotic. Within a minute he was sound asleep. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


PURSUIT 

Colonel Ogilvie found his wife in excellent health and 
spirits. The cure had been effective, and the prospect of 
meeting Joy so filled her with delight that her youth seemed 
to be renewed. He could see, when the morning light was 
admitted to their bedroom, that her eyes were bright and her 
cheeks rosy ; and all her movements were alert and springy. 
Judy too, when they went to breakfast, looked well and was 
in good spirits ; but there was something about her which 
he could not understand. It was not that she was quick of 
intellect and speech, for such had been always her habit ; it 
was not that she was eager, for she was not always so; it 
was not that she was exuberantly fond of Joy — she had 
never been anything else. But there seemed now to be 
some sort of elusive background to all her thoughts. He 
began to wonder in a vague way if it were possible that she 
had fallen in love. She asked, after her usual manner, a 
host of questions about Joy and about the visit to the Lakes ; 
where they had been and who they had seen ; and of all the 
little interests and happenings during the time of separation. 
Colonel Ogilvie felt a little wearied of it all. He had al- 
ready covered the ground with the girl’s mother, for arriv- 
ing in the grey of the dawn, he had gone straight to his 
wife’s room where he had rested till breakfast time. There 
he had told her all that he- could remember. With, how- 
ever, the patient courtesy which had not as yet in his life 
failed him with women he went over all the ground again 
with Judy. He could not but be struck with Judy’s ques- 
tioning on one subject: whether they had met at Ambleside 
any special acquaintance. He concluded that she meant 
Mr. Hardy, and asked her if such were the case. She 

234 


PURSUIT 


235 

blushed so brightly when she admitted it that he conceived 
the idea that the peccant Englishman was the object of her 
affection. Then, as she dropped that subject of questioning, 
he, in order to draw her out, went on : 

But my dear Judy it was not possible that we could 
have seen him. He has not seemed particularly anxious to 
meet us; and even if he was anxious he could not have 
done it as he did not know where we were.” 

Oh, yes he did ! ” The Colonel was surprised ; the tone 
of her words carried conviction of truthfulness. He 
answered quickly: 

He did! How on earth do you know that?” Judy 
in her emotional interest answered without thinking. 

“ Because I told him so ! ” 

Oh, you saw him then ? ” Again she answered without 
thought : 

“ No, but I wrote to him.” 

How do you know that he got your letter ? ” 

“ Because he answered it ! ” She would have given all 
she possessed to have been silent or to have answered more 
discreetly when she saw her brother-in-law’s face wrinkle 
into a hard smile, and noted the cruel keenness of his eyes 
and the cynical smile on his mouth. She answered sharply ; 
and, as is usual, began the instant after, to pay the penalty 
for such sharpness. His voice seemed to rasp her very 
soul as he said: 

I am glad to hear that the gentleman has consideration 
for some one — even a lady — who writes to him. But to my 
mind such but emphasises his rudeness — ^if for the moment 
I may call it so — ^of his conduct to others. As for myself 
when I meet the gentleman — should I ever have the good 
fortune to do so — I shall require him to answer for this 
insult — amongst others ! ” 

Insult?” murmured Judy in a panic of apprehension. 

** Yes, my dear Judith. There is no stronger word ; had 
there been I should have used it. When the same man 


LADY ATHLYNE 


236 

who does not answer my letters, or write even to accept or 
decline my proffered hospitality carries on at the same time 
a clandestine correspondence with ladies of my family he 
shall have to answer to me for it. By God he shall ! ” 
Judy thought silence wiser than any form of words, and re- 
mained mute. Colonel Ogilvie went on in the same cold, 
rasping voice : 

May I ask you. Miss Hayes,” — ‘‘ Miss Hayes, my 
God ! ” thought poor Judy trembling. He went on : “ if my 
daughter has had any meeting or correspondence with 
him?” 

“No! No! No!” cried Judy. “I can answer for 
that.” 

“ Indeed ! May I ask how you can speak with certainty 
on such a subject. I thought you were in Italy and that 
my daughter had been with me.” In despair she spoke 
impulsively : 

“ I don’t know, Lucius. How could I — I only think so.” 

“ Exactly ! Then you are but giving your opinion ! For 
that my dear Judith I am much obliged; but it has been 
for so long my habit to judge for myself in matters of those 
mutual relations between men which we call ^ honour ’ that 
I have somehow come to trust my own opinion in prefer- 
ence to that of any one else — even you my dear Judith — 
and to act upon it.” Then, seeing the red flush of anger 
and humiliation in her cheeks whilst the tears seemed to 
leap into her eyes, he felt that he had gone too far and 
added : 

“ I trust that you will forgive me, my dear sister, if I 
have caused you unnecessary pain. Unhappily pain must 
follow such dereliction of duty as has been shown by that 
young man, and by you too ; but believe me I would spare 
you if I could. But I can promise — and do so now — that 
I shall not again forget myself and speak bitterly, out of the 
bitterness of my heart as I have done. I pray your for- 
giveness, and trust that it may be extended to me.” The 


PURSUIT 


237 


cynical words and tone of his apology, however it may have 
been meant, only added fuel to her anger. Words were 
inadequate, so she sought refuge in flight. As she went 
out of the door she heard Colonel Ogilvie say as if to him- 
self : 

‘T may not know how to speak to women ; but thank God, 
I do know how to deal with that damned fellow! ” 

Judy threw herself on her bed in a storm of futile passion. 
She could not but feel that she had been brutally treated; 
but she was powerless to either resent or explain. But well 
she knew that she had helped to leave matters worse for 
poor Joy than they had been. All the anger that Colonel 
Ogilvie had been repressing had now blazed out. He had 
expressed himself, and she had never known such expression 
of his to fail in tragic consequences. He would now never 
forgive Mr. Hardy for his double sins of omissions and 
commission. She was sorry for the young man’s sake ; but 
was in anguish for the sake of the poor girl who had, she 
felt and knew, set her heart upon him. Joy’s romance in 
which her heart — her whole being and her future happi- 
ness — had been embarked was practically over, though she 
did not know it as yet. All the life-long brightness that 
even her father had ever hoped for her was gone. Hence- 
forth she would be only a poor derelict, like Judy herself, 
wrecked on a lee shore! Judy had always pitied herself, 
but she had never realized the cause of that pity as she did 
now, seen as it was through the eyes of loving sympathy. 

“ I pitied my own heart, 

As if I held it in my hand. 

Somewhat coldly, — with a sense 
Of fulfilled benevolence. 

And a ‘ Ppor thing ’ negligence.” 

Colonel Ogilvie went out in a very militant humour to 
interview the motor-agent. He felt angry with himself for 
having lost his temper — and to a lady; and his anger had 


LADY ATHLYNE 


238 

to be visited on some one. In any case he considered that 
the motor people had treated him scurvily and should suffer 
accordingly. In reality he was in a reaction from great 
happiness. He was an affectionate husband who had been 
deeply concerned at his wife’s long illness, and lonely and 
distraught in her long absence. Only that morning he had 
met her again and had found her quite restored to health 
and as though she had regained her youth. He had shared 
in her pleasure at the good account he had to give of Joy. 
It was, after all, perhaps natural to a man of his peculiar 
temperament to visit heavily his displeasure on the man who 
had, to his mind, ill-used him, and on all concerned with 
him in the doing. Mr. Hardy it was who had jarred the 
wheels of his chariot of pleasure; and Mr. Hardy it was 
who must ultimately answer to him for so doing. 

The expression of his opinions as to the moral and com- 
mercial worth of the motor-agent and of the manufacturer 
with whom he dealt seemed to relieve his feelings to some 
degree; he returned to Brown’s in a much milder frame of 
mind than that in which he had gone out. He was kept 
pretty busy till the time of departure, but in his secret heart 
— made up to action during the time of his work — he deter- 
mind to try to make amends to Judy for the pain he had 
given her. He rejoiced now that his wife had not been 
present at that scene which it already pained him to look 
back upon. 

He was somewhat incensed that as he could not leave by 
his intended train he would have to postpone the journey 
by several hours. He could not now arrive at Ambleside 
till nearly midnight. 

In the train he took the first opportunity of making the 
amende to Judy. Mrs. Ogilvie had fallen asleep — she had 
been awake since very early in the morning, so the Colonel 
said quietly to his sister-in-law: 

“Judy I want you to forgive me, if you can.” She 
thrilled with pleasure as he spoke her name in the familiar 


PURSUIT 


239 

form. It seemed some sort of presage of a change for the 
better, a sort of lifting of the ban which had all day lain so 
heavy on her. As he went on her hopes grew ; there were 
possibilities that, after all, Joy was not yet finally doomed 
to unhappiness. At all times Colonel Ogilvie was impres- 
sive in his manner ; the old-fashioned courtesy on which he 
had long ago founded himself was permeated with conscious 
self-esteem. Now when the real earnestness of the mo- 
ment was grafted upon this pronounced manner he seemed 
to the last degree dignified — almost pompous: 

I cannot tell you how sorry I am that I caused you 
pain this morning, or how ashamed I am for having so lost 
my temper before you. For more than twenty years I have 
honestly tried, my dear, to make you happy.” Here she 
interrupted him : “ And you succeeded Lucius ! ” He rose 
and bowed gravely : 

“ Thank you, my dear. I am grateful to you for that 
kindly expression. It does much, I assure you, to mitigate 
the poignancy of my present concern. It was too bad of 
me to let my bitterness so wound you. It shall not occur 
again. Moreover I feel that I owe you something; and I 
promise you that if I should be so — so overcome again by 
anger I shall try to obey you to the best of my power. You 
shall tell me what you wish me to do; and if I can I shall 
try to do it.” Here a look of caution, rare to him, over- 
spread his face : '' I won’t promise to give up a purpose of 

my life or brook any interference with the course of hon- 
our — that I can promise to no one, not even to you my dear. 
But if I can grant any consideration — or — or favour I shall 
certainly try to do so ! ” 

Judy was not so well satisfied with the end of the promise 
as with the beginning. But it was hopeful of better things 
for the future; so she meekly and gratefully accepted it 
en bloc. 

When they arrived at Ambleside it was dark and the 
lamps of the station lent but a dim light. It became evident 


240 


LADY ATHLYNE 


to Mrs. Ogilvie and Judy that Colonel Ogilvie was dis- 
appointed at not finding Joy awaiting them on the platform. 
He had, during the journey, explained to them with some 
elaboration that they were not to expect her as he had said 
there was no need of her coming ; but, all the same, he had 
himself expected her. As the train drew up he had leaned 
out of the window looking carefully along the whole range 
of the platform. When, however, he ascertained that she 
was not there, he turned his attention to Judy whom he 
observed prolonging the search. His mind at once went 
back to his original concern that there was something be- 
tween her and Mr. Hardy. She heard him say to himself 
fiercely under his breath: 

“ That damned fellow again ! ” She did not of course 
understand that it was with reference to herself, and took 
it that it presaged ill to Joy. She knew from Colonel Ogil- 
vie’s expression and bearing that the man he had now grown 
to hate was in his mind, and with a heavy heart she took her 
place in the waiting landau. 

When the carriage arrived at the hotel Colonel Ogilvie 
jumped out and ran up the steps. This was so unlike his 
usual courtesy that it not only pained the two ladies but 
made them anxious. When Colonel Ogilvie forgot his 
habitual deference to women something serious indeed must 
have been in his mind! When they followed, which they 
did as quickly as they could, they found him in the hall read- 
ing a telegram. A railway envelope lay on the table, and 
beside it a little pile of letters. When he had finished read- 
ing the first telegram he opened the second and read it also. 
All the time his face was set in a grim frown, the only 
relief from which was the wrinkling of his forehead which 
betrayed an added anxiety. He handed the two transcripts 
to his wife, saying as he did so : 

I have put them in order; one is a few hours earlier 
than the other!” Mrs. Ogilvie read in silence and handed 
the forms to Judy, the Colonel remaining grimly silent. 


PURSUIT 


241 


Mrs. Ogilvie said nothing. When Judy had turned over 
the last and looked at the back of it in that helpless manner 
which betrays inadequate knowledge. Colonel Ogilvie said: 

“ Well?” 

“ I trust the poor child is not in any danger ! ” said the 
mother. 

“ How thoughtful of her to have sent twice. She 
knew you would be so anxious about her ! ” said the aunt, 
wishing to propitiate the angry father. For fully a minute 
no more was said. Then the Colonel spoke: 

‘‘ She went motoring. In whose car? I have not yet 
got my own ! ” As he was speaking the hotel proprietor 
came into the hall to pay his respects, as he usually did 
with incoming guests. He heard the last remark and said : 

‘‘ Pardon me. Colonel Ogilvie. But your car has arrived. 
The chauffeur who had charge of it and came in the same 
train with it to Kirkby Stephen drove it here some time 
ago ! ” Colonel Ogilvie bowed a slight acknowledgment 
and turning to Judy said: 

Then it could not be in that car she went. If not, 
whose car was it? Whom did she go with? We know no 
one here who owns a car; and we did not make any new 
acquaintances during our stay. Indeed none even of our old 
acquaintances did us the honour of calling. But perhaps 
my dear Judy,” he spoke with manifest and comforting 
self-restraint — *‘you can enlighten us. Do you know if 
your friend Mr. Hardy whom you informed of our being 
here has a motor car? ” Judy feared to precipitate disaster, 
and not knowing what to say answered feebly with a query : 

Why Colonel ? ” The storm cloud of the father’s wrath 
instantly broke: 

Why, madam ‘ why ’ ” he almost roared whilst the dis- 
creet proprietor withdrew closing the inner door of the hall 
behind him — the luggage was being taken in by the base- 
ment door: 

“ I’ll tell you why if you wish — though perhaps you know 


LADY ATHLYNE 


242 

it already. Because I want to know under what circum- 
stances my daughter has gone out motoring with some 
stranger — though indeed it may be that he is not quite a 
stranger — the moment my back was turned. Let me tell you 
that it is not usual for unmarried young ladies to go out 
motoring into far away places with men, unchaperoned. My 
honour — my honour through my daughter — is here con- 
cerned. And it is like that damned fellow to take her away 
in such an underhand manner. You need say nothing of him. 
It’s no use trying to palliate his conduct. True enough I 
don’t know for certain that it is he, or that she is alone with 
any man ; but I have a conviction that it is so ; and I tell you 
I shall lose no time in putting my convictions to the test. I 
mean to take no chances with regard to that damned fel- 
low. I don’t trust him! He has already affronted me, and 
has been tampering with the women of my family. I have 
borne even that with what temper I could because I was 
under obligation to him. But if, as it would seem, he has 
run away with my daughter, I shall brook his insolence no 
longer. He shall render me a full account of his doings 
with me and mine ! ” He crammed his letters into his 
pocket and strode upstairs. There he rang the bell in such 
a violent manner that the proprietor himself attended to it. 
Colonel Ogilvie asked him to have the chauffeur sent up to 
him, and requested the proprietor to come also himself as 
he wished to ask him some questions on local matters. He 
had by now his temper in hand, and was all the more 
dangerous because cold. In a few minutes the proprietor 
brought in the chauffeur, a stolid, hard-featured, silent 
man; manifestly one to obey orders and to stand any 
amount of fatigue. When Colonel Ogilvie had looked at 
his credentials and asked him some questions, all of which 
he did with perfect self-control and courtesy, he turned to 
the proprietor and asked : 

“ Can you tell me whereabout is a place called Castle 
Douglas ? ” 


PURSUIT 


243 

“ In Scotland, Colonel. In Galloway — the part of Scot- 
land just beyond the Firth of Solway. It is I think in 
Kirkcudbrightshire.” 

“ How far from here ? ” 

“ Something over a hundred miles I should say.” The 
father started: 

“ Good God ! ” Judy’s heart sank at the exclamation 
and the tone; his voice was laden with horror and despair. 
The new chauffeur’s mouth opened. He spoke as if every 
word was grudgingly shot out: 

“ It is exactly ninety-one and a half miles.” Colonel 
Ogilvie turned to him quickly : 

How do you know so accurately ; have you driven 
it?” 

“ Never sir!” 

“Then how do you know?” 

“ In the train coming down I spent my time looking over 
the maps and the distance as given in the books of the 
Motorists’ Touring Club. I noted that.” 

“ Had you any reason for examining that particular 
route?” asked the Colonel suspiciously. He was obsessed 
by an idea that the “ damned fellow ” was corrupting every- 
body so as to work against him, Colonel Ogilvie. 

“ None special ; I was only trying to do my business well. 
I thought it likely that you might want me to stay with 
you a short time until you and your permanent chauffeur 
should become acquainted with the mechanism of your new 
car. You see, I was told you were an American, and the 
American makes differ somewhat from our own. And as 
I am myself looking out for a permanent situation where 
I should be well paid, made comfortable, and treated with 
whatever consideration is due to a first-rate mechanicien 
and driver I thought that if I showed zeal in your tem- 
porary service you might wish to retain me permanently. 
In a certain sense I took, I may say, special note of at least 
part of that particular route.” 


244 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“ Why ? ” Colonel Ogilvie’s suspicions came up afresh 
at the admission. 

“ Simply because I took it that you might want to drive 
into Scotland, and Galloway is perhaps the most promising 
region for motoring on this side of that country. All the 
motor roads from this side of England run through Carlisle. 
Then you cross the Border close to Gretna Green. . . 

“To where?” The Colonel’s voice was full of passion. 
The chauffeur went on calmly and explicitly : 

“ Gretna Green. That is where run-away marriages used 
to be made. That place was usually chosen because it was 
the first across the Border where Scotch law ruled. The 
simplifying of our marriage laws and the growth of sanity 
amongst parents of marriageable daughters generally has 
done away with the necessity of elopement. Now we go by 
there without stopping, as Galloway is the modern objec- 
tive. Indeed in going there you do not go into Gretna at 
all ; you pass it by on the right when you have crossed the 
bridge over the Sark and are making for Annan. And as 
to my knowledge of mileages that is a part of my trade. 
It is my business to arrange for the amount of petrol neces- 
sary for the run I am ordered to make. I don’t think that 
you need disturb yourself about that one small item of my 
knowledge. It may set you more at ease if I tell you that 
it is one hundred and thirty-six and a half miles to Glas- 
gow ; a hundred and one to Abbotsford ; seventy-five and a 
half to Dumfries; a hundred and thirty-five and a half to 
Edinburgh; two hundred and seventy-four and a half to 
Aberdeen; one hundred and fifty-eight and three quarters 
to. . . .” 

“ Stop ! stop ! ” cried Colonel Ogilvie. “ I am obliged to 
you for your zeal in my service ; and I think I can promise 
you that if in every way you suit, you may look on the per- 
manent post as your own. I shall want you to begin your 
duties this very night. But this is a special job ; and with 
special reward, for it is difficult and arduous.” 


PURSUIT 


245 


** I am willing sir, whatever it may be.’^ 

“ That is well said. You are the sort of man I want.” 

“ My orders sir? ” 

“ I want you to take me to Castle Douglas to-night — 
now — as soon as you can get ready. I wish to get there as 
soon as I can. You will want to have everything right, for 
we must have no break-down if we can help it. And you 
must have good lamps.” 

‘‘ ’Twill be all right, sir. We shan’t, I expect, break 
down. But if we do — the motor is a new one and I did 
not make it — / shall put it right. I am a first-rate 
mechanicien and an accomplished driver. . . .” 

All right ; but don’t talk. Get the car ready, and we 
shall start at once.” 

“We can start at once, so far as the car and I are con- 
cerned. But we lack something as yet. We must have a 
pilot.” 

“ A pilot ! I thought you knew the way.” 

“ On paper, yes ; and I doubt not I could get there all 
right — in time. But you want to go quick; and we would 
lose time finding out the way. Remember we are going in 
the dark.” Then turning to the proprietor he said: 

“ Perhaps you can help us here, sir. Have you any one 
who can pilot ? ” 

“ Not a chauffeur ; but I have a coachman who knows 
all round here for a couple of days’ journey. I have no 
doubt that he knows that road amongst the others. He 
could sit beside you and direct you how to go!” 

“ Right ! Can you get him soon ? ” 

“ At once. He lives over the stables. I shall send for him 
now.” He rang the bell and when the servant came gave 
his message. And so that matter was settled and the 
journey arranged. The chauffeur went to have a last 
look over the motor car, and to bring it round to the door. 

All the time of the interview Colonel Ogilvie stood silent, 
keeping erect and rigid. He was so stern and so master 


LADY ATHLYNE 


246 

of himself that Judy wished now that he had less self- 
control. She feared the new phase even more than the old. 
Then care for what had still to be done took hold of her. 
She took her sister away to prepare a little basket of food 
and wine for Colonel Ogilvie and the men with him; they 
would need some sustenance on their long, arduous journey. 
Those kindly offices kept both women busy whilst Colonel 
Ogilvie was putting on warm clothes for the night trav- 
elling. Presently Mrs. Ogilvie joined him. When they 
were alone she said to him somewhat timidly: 

“ You will be tender, dear, with Joy? The child is young, 
and a harsh word spoken in anger at a time when she is 
high-strung and nervous and tired and frightened might 
be a lasting sorrow to her ! ” She half expected that he 
would resent her speaking at all. She was surprised as 
well as pleased when, putting his hands kindly on her 
shoulders, he said: 

“ Be quite easy in your mind on that subject, wife. Joy 
has all my love ; and, whatever comes, I shall use no harsh 
word to her. I love her too well to give her pain, at the 
moment or to think of afterwards. She shall have nothing 
but care and tenderness and such words as you would 
yourself wish spoken 1 ” The mother was comforted for 
the moment. But then came a thought, born of her 
womanhood, that the keenest pain which could be for the 
woman would be through her concern for the man. She 
had little doubt as to what her husband’s action would be 
if his surmises as to Mr. Hardy should prove to be correct. 
And such would mean the blighting of poor Joy’s life. She 
would dearly have loved to remonstrate with her husband 
on the subject; and she would have done so, whatever 
might have been the consequences to herself, but that she 
feared that any ill-timed expostulation might be harmful to 
her daughter. All the motherhood in her was awake, and 
nerved her to endure in silence. The only other words she 
said as she kissed her husband were: 


PURSUIT 


247 


^‘Good-bye for a while, dear. God keep you in all 
dangers of the road — and — and in all the far greater 
dangers that may come to you at the end of it. My love to 
Joy ! Be good to her, and never forget that she can suffer 
most through any one dear to her. Bring her home to me, 
safe and — and happy ! I . . .” Her voice broke and she 
wept on his shoulder. Colonel Ogilvie was a determined 
man, and in some ways a harsh and cruel one; but he was 
a man, and understood. He took his wife in his arms and 
kissed her fondly, stroking her dark hair wherein the 
silver threads were showing. Then he passed out in silence. 

By the door of the car he found Judy who said: 

“ I have put in your supper — you will want it dear — and 
also supper for the men. And oh! Lucius, don’t forget, 
for poor Joy’s sake, that this day you hold her heart — which 
is her life — in your hand ! ” 

This added responsibility filled the cup of Colonel Ogil- 
vie’s indignation. Already his conscience was quickening 
and his troubles — the agitation to his feelings — were almost 
more than he could bear. He would have liked to make 
some cynical remark to Judy; but before he could think of 
anything sufficiently biting, the motor which had been 
throbbing violently started. 

Before the angry man could attempt to get back his self- 
possession he was gazing past the two shrouded figures 
before him and across the luminous arc of the lamps out 
into the night. The darkness seemed to sweep by him as 
he rushed on his way to Scotland. 

When he had gone Judy turned to her sister and said: 
“ I was going to give him Joy’s dressing bag and a change 
of dress to take with him. She will want them, poor dear, 
after a long day of travel and a night in a strange place. 
But I have thought of a better plan.” 

‘‘ And that ? ” asked the anxious mother. 

‘‘To take them myself! Moreover it won’t be any 
harm my being present in case the Colonel gets on the 


LADY ATHLYNE 


248 

rampage. It will restrain him some. Now you go and 
lie down, dear. Don’t say anything — except your prayers — 
in case you feel you must say something. But sleep will 
be your best help in this pretty tough proposition. I’ll go 
and get a hustle on that Dutch landlord. He’s got to find 
an automobile and a chauffeur, and a pilot if necessary, 
for me too ! ” 


CHAPTER XIX 


DECLARATION OF WAR 

Joy Ogilvie was so tired out that her body lay like a 
log all night. How her mind was occupied she only knew 
afterwards. For the memory of dreams is an unconscious 
memory at the time ; it is only when there is opportunity of 
comparison with actualities that dreams can be re-produced. 
Then, as at first, the dreams are real — as they are forever 
whilst memory lasts. Indeed regarding dreams and ac- 
tualities, one might almost appeal to scientific analogy; 
and in comparing the world of imagination — which is the 
kingdom of dreams — with the material world, might ad- 
duce the utterance of Sir Oliver Lodge in comparing the 
density of aether with that of matter in the modern scien- 
tific view : “ Matter is turning out to be a filmy thing in 

comparison with aether.” 

This might well serve as a scientific comparison. Nay 
more, it might well be an induction. The analogies of na- 
ture are so marvellously constant, as exemplified by the 
higher discoveries in physics, that we might easily wander 
farther than in taking the inner world of Thought as com- 
pared with the outer world of Physical Being, as an 
analogy to the Seen and Unseen worlds. 

In the meantime we may take it that Joy’s dreams that 
night were in some way reflective of the events of the day. 
No girl of healthy emotional power could fail to be in- 
fluenced by such a sequence of experiences of passion and 
fear as she had gone through. The realized hoping of love, 
the quick-answering abandonment of expressed passion; 
long, long minutes of the bliss of communion with that 
other soul — minutes whose sweetness or whose length could 
not be computed until the leisure of thought gave oppor- 

249 


LADY ATHLYNE 


250 

tunity. Unconscious cerebration goes on unceasingly; and 
be sure that with such data as she had in her mind, the 
workings of imagination were quick and by no means cold. 
Again she lived the moments of responsive passion; but 
so lived them that she had advanced further on the road 
to completed passion when the unconsciousness to physical 
surroundings began to disappear and on the senses the ac- 
tualities began to consciously impress themselves. The dawn, 
stealing in between the chinks of the folded shutters, made 
strange lines on the floor without piercing through the 
walls of sleep. The myriad sounds of waking life from 
distant field and surrounding street brought no message 
to the closed eyes of weariness. The sun rose, and rose, 
and rose ; and still she lay there unmoving. 

At last that unaccountable impulse which moves all living 
things to sentience at the ending of sleep, stirred her. The 
waking grew on her. At first, when her eyes partially 
opened, she saw, but without comprehending, the dim room 
with its low ceiling ; the wide window, masked in with shut- 
ters whose edges were brilliant with the early light ; the odd 
furniture and all the unfamiliar surroundings. Then came 
the inevitable self-question : “ where am I ? ” 

The realization of waking from such dreaming as hers 
is a rude and jarring process, and when it does come, 
comes with something of a shock. For what seemed a 
long time Joy lay in a sort of languorous ecstasy whilst 
memory brought back to her those moments of the previous 
day which were sweeter even than her dreams. Again she 
heard the footsteps of the man she loved coming up rapidly 
behind her. Again she saw as she turned, in obedience to 
some new impulse which swayed her to surrender, the 
face of the man looking radiant with love and happiness. 
Again she felt the sweet satisfaction of living and loving 
when his arms closed round her and her arms closed round 
him and they strained each other strictly. Again there 
came to her the thrill which seemed to lift her from her 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


251 

earthly being as his mouth touched hers and they kissed 
each other in the absolute self-abandonment of reciprocated 
passion— the very passing memory of which set her blood 
tingling afresh ; the thrill which set her soul floating in the 
expanse of air and made all conventions of the artificial 
world seen far below seem small and miserable and of 
neither power nor import. Again she was swept by that 
tide of wild desires, vague and nebulous as yet, inchoate, 
elusive, expansive, all-absorbing, which proclaimed her 
womanhood to herself. That desire of wife to husband, 
of sex to sex, of woman to man, which is the final expres- 
sion of humanity — the love song of the children of Adam. 
It was as though memory and dreaming had become one. 
As if the day had merged in the night, and the night again 
in the coming day ; each getting as it came all the thoughts 
and wishes and fancies and desires which follow in the 
train of the all-conquering Love-God. 

In such receptive mood Joy awoke to life. When she 
realized where she was; and when the import of her new 
surroundings had broken in upon her, all the forces of her 
youth and strength began at once to manifest themselves. 
She slid softly from her bed — the instinct of self protection 
forbade noise or else she would have jumped to the floor. 
Doing must follow dreaming! The attitude of standing, 
once again helped to recall the previous evening, and she 
remembered that she had thought then that she must not 
open the windows in the morning because they faced di- 
rectly other windows across a narrow street. 

She remembered also that the next room, through which 
she had entered, had windows on two sides. Those on one 
side opened as did her own; but those on the other side 
looked out on an open space. And so, without further 
thought, she opened the door between and passed into the 
outer room. It too, like her own, was dark from the closed 
shutters. Instinctively she went softly, her bare feet mak- 
ing no sound on the carpet. With the same instinctive 


LADY ATHLYNE 


252 

caution she had opened the door noiselessly ; when the self- 
protective instinct has once been awakened, it does not 
easily relapse to sleep. She went over to one of the 
windows and tried to look out through the chinks. The 
day was bright outside and the sun was shining; the fog 
had entirely disappeared. In the sudden desire to breathe 
the fresh morning air, and to free in the sunlight her soul 
cramped by the long darkness of fog and night, she threw 
open the heavy shutters. 

Athlyne slept so soundly that he never stirred. He lay 
on the sofa on his left side with his face out to the room. 
He too had been dreaming ; and to his dreams the happiness 
of the day had brought a vivifying light. Through all 
his weariness of mind and body came to his spirit the glow 
of those moments when he knew that his love was recipro- 
cated; when his call to his mate had been answered — an- 
swered in no uncertain voice. And so he, too, had lain 
with bodily nature all quiescent, whilst the emotional side 
of his mind ranged freely between memory and expectation. 
And in due process the imaginative power of the mind 
had worked on the nerves — and through them on the body — 
till he too lay in a languorous semi-trance — the mind rang- 
ing free whilst the abnormally receptive body quivered in 
unison. It was a dangerous condition of being in which 
to face the situation which awaited him. 

The sound of the opening shutter wakened him, fully 
and all at once. The moment his eyes opened he saw a figure 
between him and the window; and at the knowledge that 
some stranger was in his room the habit of quick action 
which had prevailed in his years of campaigning re-asserted 
itself. On the instant he flung aside his blanket and sprang 
from his bed. 

At the sound of a step on the floor Joy turned. The 
light streaming in through the unshuttered window showed 
them in completeness each to the other. The light 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


253 


struck Athlyne full in front. There was instant recognition, 
even in the unaccustomed garb, of that tall lithe form; of 
those fine aquiline features, of those dark flashing eyes. As 
to Joy, who standing against the light made her own shadow, 
Athlyne could have no doubt. He would have realized her 
presence in darkness and silence. As she stood in her fine 
linen, the morning light making a sort of nimbus round the 
opacity of the upper part of her body, she looked to him like 
some fresh realization — some continuation in semi-ethereal 
form — of the being of his dreams. There was no pause 
for thought in either of the lovers. The instant of recog- 
nition was the realization of presence — unquestioning and 
the most natural thing in the world that the other should 
be there. Delight had sealed from within the ears of Doubt. 
Unhesitatingly they ran to each other, and before a second 
had passed were locked tightly in each other’s arms. 

In the secret belief of the Conventional world — that be- 
lief which is the official teaching of the churches of an 
artificial society, and not merely the world of Adam and 
Eve (and some others) — the ceremony of Marriage in 
itself changes the entire nature of the contracting parties. 
Whatever may have been the idiosyncrasies of these in- 
dividuals such are forthwith changed, foregone, or other- 
wise altered to suit that common denominator of Human 
Nature which alone is officially catalogued in the records 
of the Just. It were as though the recorded promise of two 
love-stricken sufferers, followed by the formal blessings 
of the Church in any of its differentiations — or of the 
Registrar — should change baser mortals to more angelic 
counterpart; just as the “Philosopher’s Stone” which the 
mediaeval alchemist dreamed of and sought for, was ex- 
pected to change baser metals to gold. 

Perhaps it is because this transmutation is so complete 
that so many of those marriages which the Church does 
sanctify turn out so differently from the anticipations of 
the contractors and blessors ! 


LADY ATHLYNE 


254 

But Dame Nature has her own church and her own 
ritual. In her case the Blessing comes before the Service ; 
and the Benediction is but the official recognition that two 
souls — with their attendant bodies — have found a perfect 
communion for themselves. Those who believe in Human 
Nature — and many of them are seriously minded people 
too — realize and are thankful for the goodness of God 
who showers the possibilities of happiness with*no stinting 
and no uncertain hand. “ After all ” they say “ what about 
Eden ? ” There was no church’s blessing there — not even 
a Registrar ; and yet we hold that Adam and Eve were 
united in Matrimony. Nor were their children or their 
children’s children made one with organized formality. 
What was it then that on these occasions stood between 
fornication and marriage ? What could it be but the 
Blessing of God ! And if God could make marriage by His 
Blessing in Eden, when did He forego that power. Or if 
indeed there be only a “ Civil Contract ” — as so many hold 
to-day — what proofs or writings must there be beyond that 
mere “ parole ” contract which is recognized in other matters 
by the Law of the Land. 

So, the believers in natural religion and natural law — 
those who do not hold that personal licence, unchecked 
and boundless, is an appanage or logical result of freedom. 
To these, freedom is in itself a state bounded on all sides 
by restrictive laws — as must ever be, unless Anarchy is held 
to be the ultimate and controlling force. And in the end 
Anarchy is the denial of all Cosmic law — ^that systematised 
congeries of natural forces working in harmony to a com- 
mon end. 

But law, Cosmic or Anarchic, (if there be such a thing, 
and it may be that Hell — if there is one — has its own 
laws — ) or any grade between these opposites, is a matter 
for coolness and reflection. Inter arma silent leges is a 
maxim of co-ordinate rulings in the Court of Cosmic law. 
And the principle holds whether the arms be opposed or 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


055 

locked together in any form of passion. When Love lifts 
the souls, whose bodies are already in earthly communion, 
Law ceases to be. From the altitude of accomplished 
serenity the mightiest law is puny; just as from a balloon 
the earth looks flat, and even steeples and towers have no 
perspective. 

So it was with the two young people clasped in each 
other’s arms. The world they lived in at the moment was 
their world, bounded only by the compass of their arms. 
After all what more did they want — what could they want. 
They were together and alone. Shame was not for them, 
or to them, who loved with all their hearts — whose souls 
already felt as one. For shame, which is a conventional 
ordering of the blood, has no place — not even a servitor’s — 
in the House of Love: that palace where reigns the love 
of husbandhood and wifehood, of fatherhood and mother- 
hood — that true, realized Cosmos — the aim, the objective, 
the heaven of human life. 

Their circumstances but intensified the pleasure of the 
embrace. Athlyne and Joy had both felt the same com- 
munion of spirits when they embraced at their first meeting 
out of Ambleside when their souls had met. This had been 
intensified when they sat in close embrace after lunch be- 
yond Dairy, when heart consciously beat to heart. Now 
it was completed in this meeting, unexpected and therefore 
more free and unhampered by preparatory thoughts and 
intentions, when body met body in a close if tentative com- 
munion. The mere paucity of raiment had force and pur- 
pose. They could each feel as they hung together closely 
strained, the beating of each other’s heart; the rising and 
falling of each other’s lungs. Their breaths commingled 
as they held mouth to mouth. In such delirious rapture — 
for these two ardent young people loved each other with 
a love which both held to be but the very beginning of 
an eternal bond and which took in every phase, actual 
and possible, of human beings — there was no place for 


LADY ATHLYNE 


256 

forethought or afterthought. It was the hour of life which 
is under the guidance of Nature; to be looked forward to 
with keen if ignorant anticipation; and which is to be 
looked back on for evermore as a time when the very 
heavens opened and the singing of the Angelic choir came 
through unmuffled. 

For seconds, in which Time seemed to stand still, they 
stood body to body and mouth to mouth. The first to speak 
was the man : 

I thought you were in England by late in the evening — 
and you were there all the time ! ” He indicated the direc- 
tion by turning his eyes towards her room. His words 
seemed to fire her afresh. Holding him more closely to 
her, she leaned back from her hips and gazed at him 
languorously; her words dropped slowly from her opened 
lips : 

“ Oh-h ! If we had only known ! ” What exactly was in 
her mind she did not know — did not think of knowing — did 
not want to know. Perhaps she did not mean anything defi- 
nite. It was only an expression of some feeling, of some 
want, some emotion, some longing — some primitive utter- 
ance couched in words of educated thought, as sweet and 
spontaneous as the singing of a bird in its native woods at 
springtime. 

Somehow, it moved Athlyne strangely. Moved the man- 
hood of him in many ways, chiefest among them his duty of 
protection. It is not a commonly-received idea that man — 
not primitive man but the partially-completed article of a 
partially-completed cosmic age — -is scrupulous with regard 
to woman. The general idea to the contrary effect is true 
en gros but not en detaille. True of women; not true of a 
woman. An educated man, accustomed to judgment and 
action in matters requiring thought, thinks, perhaps uncon- 
sciously, all round him, backward as well as forward ; but 
mainly forward. Present surroundings form his data ; con- 
sequences represent the conclusion. Himself remains 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


257 

neutral, an onlooker, until he is called on for immediate 
decision and consequent action. 

So it was with Athlyne. His instant ejaculation: 

“ Thank God we didn’t know ! ” would perhaps have been 
understood by a man. To a woman it was incomprehensible. 
Woman is, after all, more primitive than man. Her in- 
stincts are more self-centred than his. As her life moves 
in a narrower circle, her view is rather microscopic than 
telescopic; whilst his is the reverse. Inasmuch then as he 
naturally surveys a larger field, so his introspective view is 
wider. 

Joy loved the man ; and so, since he had already expressed 
himself, considered him as already her husband; or to speak 
more accurately considered herself as already his wife. It 
was, therefore, with something like chagrin that she heard 
his disavowal of her views. She did not herself quite under- 
stand what those views were, but all the same it was a dis- 
appointment that he did not really acquiesce in them; nay 
more that he did not press them on his own account — press 
them relentlessly, as a woman loves a man to do, even when 
his wishes are opposed to her own. 

A woman’s answer to chagrin is ultimate victory of her 
purpose; and the chagrin of love is perhaps the strongest 
passion with a purpose that can animate her. 

When Joy became conscious, as she did in a few seconds, 
that her lover following out his protective purpose was about 
to separate himself from her — she quite understood without 
any telling or any experience both motive and purpose — 
she opposed it on her part. As the strictness of his embrace 
lessened, so in proportion did hers increase. Then came to 
the man the reaction — he was only a man, after all. His 
ardour redoubled, and her heart beat harder with new love 
as well as triumph as he drew her closer to him in a pythonic 
embrace. Then she, too, clung to him even closer than be- 
fore. That embrace was all lover-like — an agony of rapture. 

In its midst they were startled somewhat by the rumbling 


LADY ATHLYNE 


258 

of a motor driven fast which seemed to stop close to them. 
Instinctively Joy tried to draw away from her lover ; such is 
woman’s impulse. But Athlyne held her all the tighter — 
his embrace was not all love now, but the protection which 
comes from love. She understood, and resigned herself to 
him. And so they stood, heart to heart, and mouth to 
mouth, listening. 

There was a clatter of tongues in the hall. Joy thought 
she recognised one voice — she could not be sure in the dis- 
tance and through the closed door — and her heart sank. 
She would again have tried to draw away violently but that 
she was powerless. Her will was gone, like a bird’s under 
the stare of the snake. Athlyne, too, was in suspense, his 
heart beating wildly. He had a sort of presage of disaster 
which seemed in a way to paralyse him. 

There were quick steps on the stairs. A voice said: 

There ” and the door rattled. At this moment both the 
lovers were willing to separate. But before they could do 
so, the door opened and the figure of Colonel Ogilvie blocked 
the entrance. 

“ Good God ! ” The old man’s face had grown white as 
though the sight had on the instant frozen him. So pallid 
was he, all in that second, that Joy and Athlyne received at 
once the same idea: that his moustache, which they had 
thought of snowy whiteness, was but grey against the marble 
face. 

The father’s instinct was protective too, and his action 
was quick. In the instant, without turning his face, he shut 
the door behind him and put his heel against it. 

“ Quick, daughter, quick ! ” he said in a whisper, low but 
so fierce that it cut the air like a knife, ** Get into that room 
and dress yourself. And, get out if you can, by another 
way without being noticed ! ” As he spoke he pointed to- 
wards the open door through which in the darkened room 
the bed with clothing in disarray could be dimly seen. Joy 
fled incontinently. The movements of a young woman can 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


259 

be of extraordinary quickness, but never quicker than when 
fear lends her wings. It seemed to Athlyne that she made 
but one jump from where she stood through the door-way. 
He could remember afterwards the flash of her bare heels 
as she turned in closing the door behind her. 

Now Sir ! Colonel Ogilvie’s voice was stern to dead- 
liness as he spoke. Athlyne realised its import. He felt 
that he was bound hand and foot, and knew that his part 
of the coming struggle would have to be passive. He 
braced himself to endure. Still, the ColoneFs question had 
to be answered. The onus of beginning the explanation 
had been thrust upon him. It was due to Joy that there 
should be no delay on his part in her vindication. Almost 
sick at heart with apprehension he began : 

There has been no fault on Joy's part ! " The instant 
he had spoken, the look of bitter haughtiness which came 
on Colonel Ogilvie’s face warned him that he had made a 
mistake. To set the error right he must know what he had 
to meet ; and so he waited. 

“We had better, I think, leave Miss Ogilvie's name out of 
our conversation. . . . And I may perhaps remind you, sir, 
that I am the best judge of my daughter's conduct. When 
I have said anything to my daughter's detriment it will be 
quite time for a stranger to interfere on her behalf. . . . 
It is of your conduct, sir, that I ask — demand explanation ! " 

Athlyne would have liked to meet a speech of this kind 
with a blow. In the case of any other man he would have 
done so: but this man was Joy's father, and in all circum- 
stances must be treated as such. He felt in a vague sort of 
way — a background of thought rather than thought itself — 
that his manhood was being tested, and by a fiery test. Come 
what might, he must be calm, or at least be master of him- 
self; or else bitter woe would come to Joy. Of course it 
would come — perhaps had come already to himself; but to 
that he was already braced. 

Colonel Ogilvie was skilled in the deadly preliminaries to 


260 


LADY ATHLYNE 


lethal quarrel. More than once when a foe had been marked 
down for vengeance had he led him on to force the duel him- 
self. In no previous quarrel of his life had he ever had the 
good cause that he had now, and be sure that he used that 
knowledge to the full. There was in his nature something 
of that stoical quality of the Red Indian which enables him 
to enjoy the torture of his foe, though the doing so entails 
a keen anguish to himself. Perhaps the very air of the 
“ dark and bloody ground ” of Kentucky was so impregnated 
with the passions of those who made it so that the dwelling 
of some generations had imbued the dwellers with some 
of the old Indian spirit. As Athlyne stood face to face 
with him, watching for every sign of intention as a fencer 
watches his opponent, he realised that there would be for 
him no pity, no mercy, not even understanding. He would 
have to fight an uphill contest — if Joy was to be saved even 
a single pang. What he could do he would: sacrifice him- 
self in any way that a man can accomplish it. Life and 
happiness had for him passed by ! One of his greatest diffi- 
culties would be, he felt, that of so controlling himself that 
he would not of necessity shut behind him, by anything 
which he might say or do, the door of conciliation. He 
began at once, therefore, to practice soft answering : 

“ My conduct, sir, has been bad — so far as doing an indis- 
creet thing, and in not showing to you that respect which 
is your due in any matter in which Miss Ogilvie may be con- 
cerned.’' For some reason which he could not at the mo- 
ment understand this seemed to infuriate the Colonel more 
than ever. In quite a violent way he burst out : 

“ So I am to take it that no respect is due to me in my 
own person ! Such, I gather from your words. You hint 
if you do not say that respect is only my due on my daugh- 
ter’s account ! ” At the risk of further offence Athlyne in- 
terrupted him. It would not do for him to accept this 
monstrous reading of what he meant for courtesy : 

“ Not so, sir. My respect is to you always and for all 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


261 

causes. I did but put it in that way as it is only in connec- 
tion with your daughter that I dared to speak at all.” Even 
this pacific explanation seemed to add fuel to the old man’s 
choler : 

“ Let me tell you, sir, that this has nothing whatever to 
do with my daughter. Miss Ogilvie is my care. Her de- 
fence, if any be required, is my duty — my privilege. And 
I quite know how to exercise — and to defend — both.” 

“ Quite so, sir. I realise that, and I have no wish to 
arrogate to myself your right or your duty; for either of 
which I myself should be proud to die ! ” Athlyne’s voice 
and manner were so suave and deferential that Colonel 
Ogilvie began to have an idea that he was a poltroon; and 
in this belief the bully that was in him began to manifest 
itself. He spoke harshly, intending to convey this idea, 
though as he did so his heart smote him. Even as he spoke 
there rose before his bloodshot eyes the vision of a river 
shimmering with gold as the sunset fell on it, and projected 
against it the figure of a frightened woman tugging at the 
reins of a run-away mare; whilst close behind her rode a 
valiant man guiding with left hand a splendid black horse 
to her side, his right hand stretched out to drag her to 
his saddle. Before them both lay a deadly chasm. In the 
pause Athlyne took the opportunity of hurriedly putting on 
his outer clothing. 

But even that touching vision did not check the father’s 
rage. His eyes were bloodshot and even such vision — any 
vision — could not linger in them. It passed, leaving in its 
place only a red splotch — as of blood; the emotion which 
the thought had quickened had become divergent in its own 
crooked way. But in the pause Athlyne had time to get in a 
word: 

“ Sir, whatever fault there has been was mine entirely. 
I acted foolishly perhaps, and unthinkingly. It placed us — 
placed me in such a position that every accident multiplied 
possibilities of misunderstanding. I cannot undo that now 


262 


LADY ATHLYNE 


— I don’t even say that I would if I could. But whatever 
may be my fate — in the result that may follow my acts — I 
shall accept it without cavil. And may I say in continuance 
and development of your own suggestion, that no other 
name should be mentioned in whatever has to be spoken of 
between us.” As he finished he unconsciously stood upon 
his dignity, drawing himself up to his full height and stand- 
ing in soldierly attitude. This had a strange effect on 
Colonel Ogilvie. Realising that he could rely implicitly on 
the dignity of the man before him, he allowed himself a 
further latitude. He could afford, he felt, to be unrestrained 
in such a presence; and so proceeded to behave as though 
he was stark, staring raving mad. Athlyne saw the change 
and, with some instinct m6re enlightening than his reason, 
realised that the change might later, have some beneficent 
effect. More than ever did he feel now the need for his 
own absolute self-control. It was well that he had made up 
his mind to this, for it was bitterly tested in Colonel Ogil- 
vie’s mad outpour : 

Do you dare, sir, to lecture me as to what I shall not say 
or shall say about my own daughter. What shall I say to 
you who though you had not the courtesy to even acknowl- 
edge the kindness shown you by her parents, came behind my 
back when I was far away, and stole her from my keeping. 
Who took her far away, to the risk even of her reputation. 
Risk! Risk! When I find you here together, alone and 
almost naked in each other’s arms! God’s Death! that I 
should have seen such a thing — that such a thing should 
be. . . .” Here his hot wrath changed to ice-cold deadly 
purpose, and he went on : 

“You shall answer me with your life for that!” He 
paused, still glaring at the other with cold, deadly malev- 
olence. Athlyne felt that the hour of the Forlorn Hope 
had come to him at last — ^he had been hot through all his 
seeming coolness at de Hooge’s Spruit. His self-control, 
could, he felt never be more deeply tested than now ; and he 


DECLARATION OF WAR 263 

braced himself to it. He had now to so bear himself that 
Joy would suffer the minimum of pain. Pain she would 
have to endure — ^much pain ; he could not save her from it. 
He would do what he could; that was all that remained. 
With real coolness he met the icy look of his antagonist as 
he said with all the grace and courtesy of which he was 
naturally master: 

“ Sir, I answer for my deeds with my life. That life is 
yours now. Take it, how and when you will! As to 
answering in words, such cannot be whilst you maintain your 
present attitude. I have tried already to answer — to 
explain.^' 

“ Explain sir! There is no explanation.^’ 

“ Pardon me ! ” Athlyne’s voice was calm as ever ; his 
dignity so superb that the other cheeked the words on his 
lips as he went on : 

“ There is an explanation to be made — and made it must 
be, for the sake of ... of another. I deny in no way 
your right of revenge. I think I have already told you that 
my life is yours to take as you will. But a dying man has, 
in all civilised places, a right to speak to the Court which 
condemns him. Such privilege is mine. I claim it — if you 
will force me to say so. And let me add. Colonel Ogilvie, 
that I hold it as a part of my submission to your will. We 
are alone now and can speak freely; but there must be a 
time — it will be for your own protection from the legal con- 
sequences of my death — ^when others, or at least one other, 
will know of your intention to kill. I shall speak then if 
I may not now ! ” Here the Colonel, whose anger was 
rising at being so successfully baffled, interrupted him with 
hard cynicism. 

“ Conditions in an affair of honour ! To be enforced in a 
court of law I suppose.” He felt ashamed of himself as he 
made the remark which he felt to be both ungenerous and 
untrue. He was not surprised when the other answered his 
indignant irony with scorn : 


LADY ATHLYNE 


264 

“ No sir ! No law ! Not any more appeal to law in my 
defence than there has been justice in your outrageous attack 
on me. But about that I shall answer you presently. In 
the meantime I adhere to my conditions. Aye, conditions ; 
I do not hesitate to use the word.” 

Colonel Ogilvie, through all the madness of his anger, 
realised at that moment that the man before him was a 
strong man, as fearless and determined as he was himself. 
This brought back his duty of good manners as a first in- 
stalment of his self-possession. For a few seconds he ac- 
tually withheld his speech. He even bowed slightly as the 
other proceeded: 

“ I have tried to explain. . . . My fault was in venturing 
to ask ... a lady to come for a ride in my car. I had no 
intention of evil. Nothing more than a mere desire to renew 
and further an — a friendship which had, from the first mo- 
ment of my knowing her — or rather from the first moment 
I set eyes on her, become very dear to me. It was a selfish 
wish I know; and in my own happiness at her consent I 
overlooked, — neglected — forgot the duty I owed to her 
father. For that I am bitterly sorry, and I feel that I owe 
to him a debt which I can never, never repay. But enough 
of that. . . . That belongs to a different category, and it 
has to be atoned for in the only way by which an honourable 
man can atone. ... As I have already conceded my life to 
him I need . . . can say no more. But from the moment 
when that lady stepped into my car my respect has been for 
her that which I have always intended to be given to what- 
ever lady should honour me by becoming my wife. Surely 
you, sir, as yourself an honourable man — a husband and a 
father, cannot condemn a man for speaking an honourable 
love to the woman to whom it has been given. When I 
have admitted that the making of the occasion was a fault 
I have said all that I accept as misdoing. . . .” He folded 
his arms and stood on his dignity. For a few seconds. 
Colonel Ogilvie stood motionless, silent. He could not but 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


265 

recognise the truth that underlay all the dignity of the other. 
But he was in no way diverted by it from his purpose. His 
anger was in no way mitigated; his intention of revenge 
lessened by no whit. He was merely waiting to collect his 
thoughts so as to be in a position to attack with most deadly 
effect. He was opening his lips to speak when the other 
went on as though he had but concluded one section or 
division of what he had to say : 

“ And now sir as to the manifest doubt you expressed as 
to my hona iides in placing my life in your hands — your 
apprehension lest I should try to evade my responsibility to 
the laws of honour by an appeal in some way to a court of 
law. Let me set your mind at ease by placing before you 
my views ; and my views, let me tell you, are ultimately my 
intentions. I have tried to assure you that with the excep- 
tion of waiting to ask your consent to taking ... a certain 
passenger for a drive, my conduct has from that moment 
been such as you could not find fault with. I take it for 
granted that you — nor no man — could honestly resent such 
familiarities as are customary to, and consequent on, a man 
offering marriage to a lady, and pressing his suit with such 
zeal as is, or should be, attendant on the expression of a 
passion which he feels very deeply ! Even whilst he was 
speaking, his subconsciousness was struck by his own cool- 
ness. He marvelled that he could, synchronously with the 
fearful effort necessary to his self-control and with despair 
gnawing at his heart, speak with such cold blooded precise- 
ness. As is usual in such psychical stresses his memory 
took note for future reference of every detail. 

His opponent on the contrary burst all at once into 
another fit of flaming passion. Athlyne's very preciseness 
seemed to have inflamed him afresh. He thundered out : 

“ Familiarities sir, on offering marriage ! Do you dare 
to trifle with me at a time like this. When but a few 
minutes ago I saw you here in this lonely place, at this hour 
of the morning after a night of absence, undressed as you 


266 


LADY ATHLYNE 


were, holding in your arms my daughter undressed also. . . 
God’s death ! sir, be careful or you shall rue it ! ” He 
stopped almost choking with passion. Athlyne felt himself 
once more overwhelmed with the cold wave of responsibility. 
“ Joy ! Joy ! Joy ! ” he kept repeating to himself as a sort 
of charm to keep off evil. To let go his anger now might 
— would be fatal to her happiness. He marvelled to him- 
self as he went on in equal voice, seemingly calm: 

That sir was with no intent of evil. ’Twas but a 
natural consequence of the series of disasters which fell on 
the enterprise which had so crowned my happiness. When 
I turned to come home so that ... so that the lady might 
be in time to meet her parents who were expected to arrive 
at — at her destination, I forgot, in my eagerness to meet her 
wishes, the regulations as to speed; and I was arrested for 
furious driving. In my anxiety to save her from any form 
of exposal to publicity, and in my perplexity as to how to 
manage it, I advised her returning by herself in my motor, 
I remaining at Dairy. When she had gone, and I had ar- 
ranged for attending the summons served on me, I wired 
over to this hotel to keep me rooms. I thought it better 
that as J . . . that as the lady had gone to England I 
should remain in Scotland. I started to walk here ; but I was 
overtaken by a fog and delayed for hours behind my time. 
The house was locked up — every one asleep. The night 
porter who let me in told me that as I had not arrived, as by 
my telegram, the bedroom I had ordered was let to some one 
else who had arrived in a plight similar to my own. 
‘ Another party ’ were his words ; I had no clue to whom or 
what the other visitor was. The only place left in the house 
unoccupied — for there were many unexpected guests through 
the fog — was that sofa. There I slept. Only a few minutes 
ago I was waked by some one coming into the room. When 
I saw that it was . . . when I saw who it was — the woman 
whom I loved and whom I intended to marry — I naturally 
took her in my arms without thinking.” Then without 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


267 

pausing, for he saw the anger in the Colonel’s face and felt 
that to prolong this part of the narration was dangerous, he 
went on quickly: 

“ I trust that you understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that this 
explanation in no way infringes your right of punishing me 
as you suggest. Please understand — and this is my answer 
to your suggestion as to my appealing to law — ^that I ac- 
cept your wish to go through the form of a duel ! ” He 
was hotly interrupted by the Colonel : 

“ Form of a duel! Is this another insult? When I say 
fight I mean fight — understand that. I fight a Voutrance; 
and that way only.” Athlyne’s composure did not seem 
even ruffied: 

‘‘ Exactly ! I took no other meaning. But surely I am 
entitled to take it that even a real duel has the form of a 
duel!” 

“ Then what do you mean sir by introducing the matter 
that way ? ” 

Simply, Colonel Ogilvie, to protect myself from a later 
accusation on your part — either to me or of me — of a charge 
of poltroonery ; or even a silent suspicion of it in your own 
mind ! ” 

How do you mean ? ” 

Sir, I only speak for myself. I have already said more 
than once that I hold my life at your disposal. From that 
I do not shrink; I accept the form of a duel for my 
execution.” 

Your execution ! Explain yourself, sir ? ” In a calm 
even voice came the answer. 

“ Colonel Ogilvie, I put it to you as man to man— if you 
will honour me with so simple a comparison, or juxtaposi- 
tion whichever you like to consider it — how can I fight 
freely against the father of the woman whom I lore. Pray, 
sir,” for the Colonel made an angry gesture “ be patient 
for a moment. I intend no kind of plea or appeal. I feel 
myself forced to let you know my position from my point of 


268 


LADY ATHLYNE 


view. You need bear no new anger towards me for this 
expression of my feelings. I do so with reluctance, and 
only because you must understand, here and now, or it may 
make, later on, further unhappiness for some one else — -some 
one whom we both hold in our hearts.’’ Colonel Ogilvie 
hesitated before replying. The bitter scowl was once again 
on his face as he spoke : 

“ Then I suppose I am to take it, sir, that you will begin 
our meeting on the field of honour by putting me publicly 
— through the expression of your intention — in the position 
of a murderer.” 

‘‘ Not so ! Surely you know better than that. I did not 
think that any honourable man could have so mistaken 
another. If I have to speak explicitly on this point — on 
which for your own sake and the sake of ... of one 
dear to you, I would fain be reticent — let me reassure you 
on one point: I shall play the game fairly. For this duel 
is a game, and, so far as I am concerned at all events, one 
for a pretty large stake. If indeed that can be called a 
' game ’ which can only end in one way. You need not, I 
assure you, feel the least uneasy as to my not going through 
with it properly. I am telling you this now so that you 
may not distort my intention yourself by some injudicious 
comment on my conduct, or speech, or action, made under a 
misapprehension or from distrust of me. Sir, your own 
honour shall be protected all along, so far as the doing so 
possibly rests with me.” Here, seeing some new misunder- 
standing in the Colonel’s eye he went on quickly : 

“ I venture to say this because I am aware that you doubt 
my being able to carry out my intention. When I say ‘ rests 
with me,’ I mean the responsibility of acting properly the 
role I have undertaken. I shall conduct my part of the 
duel in all seriousness. It must be in some other country ; 
this for your sake. For mine it will not have mattered. We 
have only to bear ourselves properly and none will suspect. 
I shall go through all the forms — with your permission — 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


269 

of fighting a Voutrance, so that no one can suspect. No one 
will be able afterwards to say that you could have been 
aware of my intention. I shall fire at you all right; but I 
shall not hit ! ” 

Instinctively Colonel Ogilvie bowed. He did not intend 
to do so. He said no word. The rancour of his heart was 
not mitigated ; his intention to kill in no way lessened. His 
action was simply a spontaneous recognition of the chivalry 
of another, and his appreciation of it. 

Athlyne could not but be glad of even so slight a relaxa- 
tion of the horrible tension. He stood quite still. He felt 
that in some way he had scored with his antagonist ; and as 
he was fighting for Joy he was unwilling to do anything 
which might not be good for her. He was standing well 
out in the room with his back to the door of the bedroom. 
As they stood he saw a look of surprise flash in Colonel 
Ogilvie’s face. This changed instantly to a fixed one of 
horror. His eyes seemed to look right through his antag- 
onist to something beyond. Instinctively he turned to see 
what it might be that caused that strange look. And then 
he looked horrified himself. 

In the open door-way of the bedroom stood Joy. 




CHAPTER XX 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 

All three stood stone still. Not a sound was heard ex- 
cept faint quick breathing. Athlyne tried to think; hut 
his brain seemed numb. He knew that now was a crisis 
if not the crisis of the whole affair. It chilled him with a 
deathly chill to think that Joy must have heard all the con- 
versation between her father and himself. What a remem- 
brance for her in all the empty years to come ! What sor- 
row, what pain! Presently he heard behind him as he 
stood facing her a sound which was rather a groan than 
an ejaculation — a groan endowed with articulated utterance : 

“ Good God ! ’’ Unconsciously he repeated the word 
under his breath : 

“ Good God I 

Joy, with a fixed high-strung look, stepped down into 
the room. She stood beside Athlyne who, as she came close 
to him, turned with her so that together they faced her 
father. Colonel Ogilvie said in a slow whisper, the words 
dropping out one by one: 

“ Have — you — ^been — there — all — the — time ? Did — you 

— hear — all — we — said?’’ She answered boldly: 

Yes I I was there and heard everything ! ” Again a 
long pause of silence, ended by Colonel Ogilvie’s next 
question : 

“ Why did you stay?” Joy answered at once; her quick 
speech following the slow tension sounded almost voluble. 

“ I could not get away. I wanted to ; but there is no 
other door to the room. That is why I came out here when 
I woke. ... I could not get my boots which the maid 
had taken last night, and I wanted to get away as quickly 
as possible. And, Father, being there, though I had to 

270 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 


27. 


move about dressing myself, I could not help hearing every- 
thing ! ” Her father had evidently expected that she would 
say something more, for as she stopped there he looked at 
her expectantly. There was a sort of dry sob in his throat. 
Athlyne stood still and silent; he hardly dared to breathe 
lest he should unintentionally thwart Joy’s purpose. For 
with all his instincts he realised that she had a purpose. He 
knew that she understood her father and that she was the 
most potent force to deal with him; and knowing this he 
felt that the best thing he could do would be to leave her 
quite free and unhampered to take her own course. He 
kept his eyes on her face, gazing at her unwinkingly. Her 
face was fixed — not stern but set to a purpose. Somehow 
at that moment he began to realise how well he understood 
her. Without more help than his eyes could give him, he 
seemed to follow the workings of her mind. For her mind 
was changing. At the first her expression was of flinty 
fixedness ; but as she continued to look at the old man it 
softened; and with the softening her intentioned silence 
gave way. Her lover’s thoughts translated thus: 

I will protect my — him against my father. He has 
threatened him ; he is forcing him to death. I shall not help 
him by sparing him a pang, an awkwardness. And yet — 
why that ? He is an old man — and my father ! That white 
hair demands respect. He is angry — hard and untender 
now; but his life has been a tender one to me — and he is 
my father! Though I am determined to save my lover — 
my husband, I need not in the doing cause that white 
head to sink in shame; I can spare him the pang of what 
he may think ingratitude in me. And, after all, he has 
what must seem to him just cause of offence. . . . 

He cannot — will not understand. . . . He is brave and 

proud, and has a code of honour which is more than a re- 
ligion. And he my lover — my husband is brave too. And 
as unyielding as my father. And he is willing to die — 
for me. To die for me — my honour my happiness. Though 


LADY ATHLYNE 


/2 

his dying is worse — far worse than death to me. . . . 

But he is dying bravely, and I — that was to have been 
his wife — must die bravely, worthily too. If he can suffer 
and die in silence, so too must I. . . 

It seemed a natural sequence of thought when she said 
to her father: 

“ Daddy, do you know you have not said a word to me 
yet. What have I ever done in my life that you should not 
trust me now? Have I ever lied to you that you cannot 
trust me to answer truly when you ask me — ask me any- 
thing. Why don’t you ask me now? I know that things 
do not look well. I realise that you must have been 
shocked, when you came into the room. But, Daddy dear, 
there are few things in the world that cannot be explained 
— at any rate in part. Don’t forget that I am a woman 
now. I am no longer a child whose ignorance is her inno- 
cence. Speak to me! Ask me what you will, and I will 
answer you truly 1 Hear me, even as you would listen to 
one dying! For indeed it is so. If you carry out your 
intention, as I have heard it expressed, I shall no longer 
live; there will be nothing for me to live for.” 

“ Do you mean that you will commit suicide ? ” said her 
father. 

“ Oh, no ! I hope I have pluck enough to live — if I 
can. Do not fear for me. Daddy! I shall play the game 
full, as he will do.” As she spoke, she pointed a finger 
at Athlyne. She felt now, and for the first time, acutely 
that she did not know what to call him before a third per- 
son — even her father. Athlyne looked relieved by her 
words. When she spoke of dying he had grown sadly 
white; he shared her father’s apprehension. Colonel Ogil- 
vie saw the change in his look, and took it ill. As may be 
surmised a part of his anger towards Athlyne arose from 
jealousy. Until this man had appeared upon the scene his 
‘‘ little girl ” was his alone ; no other man shared in her 
affection. As she was an only child all his parental affec- 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 


tion had been centred in her. Though he might have been 
prepared to see her mate with a man of his own choosing 
— or at any rate of his acceptance, he was jealous of the 
man who had stepped in, unaccredited and wanting in defer- 
ence to himself. It must have been a tinge of this jealousy 
which prompted his next question. Turning with a bitter 
formality to Athlyne he said : 

“ I suppose you are satisfied, now, sir. Whatever may 
come, my daughter is estranged from me; and it is your 
doing! '' In answer Joy and Athlyne spoke together. Said 
the latter: 

“ Oh sir ! There he stopped ; he feared to say more 
lest his anger should master him. But the protest was 
effective; the old man flushed — over forehead and ears and 
neck. Joy spoke in a different vein : 

“ There is no estrangement. Daddy dear ; and therefore 
it can be no one's doing. Least of all could such a thing 
come from this man who loves me, and . . . and whom 

I love." As she spoke she blushed divinely, and taking 
her lover’s right hand between both her hands held it tight. 
This seemed for some reason to infuriate her father afresh. 
He strode forward towards Athlyne as though about to 
strike him. But at the instant there came a quick rap on 
the door. Instinctively he drew away, and, having called 
out “ Come ! ’’ stood expectingly and seemingly calm. The 
door opened slightly and the voice of the Sheriff was 
heard : 

May I come in? I am Alexander Fenwick, Sheriff 
of Galloway ! " As he was speaking he entered the room 
with a formal bow to each in turn. He continued to speak 
to Colonel Ogilvie: 

"‘You will pardon this intrusion I hope, sir. Indeed I 
trust you will not look upon it as an intrusion at all when 
you know the reason of my coming." Colonel Ogilvie’s 
habit of old-fashioned courtesy came at once to the fore 
with the coming of a stranger. With a bow which to those 


LADY ATHLYNE 


4 

reared in a newer and less formal school of manners 
seemed almost grandiloquent he spoke : 

“ I came here on some business, and on my arrival a few 
minutes ago was asked by our landlady — an old servant 
of my own — who on that account thought that she might 
ask what she thought a favour — to come up here. She 
thought, poor anxious soul, that some unpleasantness might 
be afoot as she heard high words, and feared a quarrel. 
All the more on account of a sudden arrival of a gentleman 
who seemed somewhat incensed. This I took from her 
description of the personality, to be you sir. Indeed, I 
recognise all the points, except that of the anger ! ” As 
he spoke he bowed with pleasant courtesy. The other 
bowed too, partly in answer to the implied question and 
partly in recognition of the expressed courtesy of the words 
and manner. 

Whilst he had been speaking, the Sherilf had been watch- 
ing keenly those around him. He had been for so long a 
time in the habit of forming his opinion rather by looks 
than words that the situation seemed to explain itself; 
young lovers, angry father. This opinion was justified 
and sustained by the confidence which had been given to 
him by Athlyne on the previous afternoon. He had been, 
on entering the room, rather anxious at the state of afiP airs ; 
but now he began to breathe more freely. He felt that his 
experience of life and of law might really be here of some 
service. But his profession had also taught him wariness 
and caution ; also not to speak on side issues till he knew the 
ground thoroughly. Joy he read like an open book. There 
was no mistaking her love, her anxiety, her apprehension. 
Athlyne he knew something of already, but he now saw 
in his face a warning look which bade him be silent regard- 
ing him. He diagnosed Colonel Ogilvie as a proud, mas- 
terful, vain, passionate man; something of a prig; tender, 
in a way he understood himself ; faithful to his word ; re- 
lentless to an expressed intention; just — according to his 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 


275 

Own ideas of right and wrong. Weighing these attributes 
for his own pacific purposes he came to the conclusion that 
his first effort at conciliation should be made with regard 
to the last-mentioned. So he began, speaking in a manner 
of courtly and deferential grace: 

“ I trust sir, you will yield to me the consideration often 
asked by, and sometimes granted to a well-intentioned man, 
however bungling the same might be in thought or method 
or manner/' Colonel Ogilvie conceded the favour with a 
gracious bow. Thus emboldened, if not justified, he 
went on: 

“ I fain would ask that I might be allowed to make some- 
thing in the nature of a short statement, and to make it 
without interruption or expostulation. You will under- 
stand why presently." Again the gracious acquiescence ; he 
continued : 

You are, I take it, a stranger to this country ; though, 
if I am not misled by name and lineament, claiming Scot- 
tish forbears ? " Colonel Ogilvie's bow came more natur- 
ally this time. His in-lying pride was coming to the res- 
cue of common sense. The Sheriff understood, and went 
on with better heart : 

“ The experience which I have had in the performance 
of my duties as sheriff has shewn me that such a group as 
I see before me — father, daughter and lover, if I mistake 
not — is not uncommon in this part of Scotland." No one 
answered his bow this time. All were grimly silent in ex- 
pectancy. He felt that it was a dangerous topic; but the 
fact had been stated without being denied. He hur- 
ried on: 

“Just across the Border, as we are, we have had very 
many occasions of run-away marriages; I have had myself 
in earlier days to explain for the good of all parties how the 
law stands in such matters. More than once the knowledge 
enabled those interested in it to spare much pain to others ; 
generally to those whom they loved best. I trust that now 


LADY ATHLYNE 


276 

I may use that knowledge in your behalf — as a friend, I 
am not here in my official capacity — or perhaps I might not 
be so free to advise as I am now without, I trust, offence 
to any one.” Colonel Ogilvie’s gracious bow here answered 
for all the party. The Sheriff felt more at ease. He was 
now well into his subject; and the most difficult part of 
his duty had been, he thought, passed. All three of his 
hearers listened eagerly as he went on : 

“ A knowledge of the law can hurt no one ; though it may 
now and again disappoint some one — when expounded too 
late. Well, there is a common belief in South Britain — 
and elsewhere that the marriage law in Scotland is a very 
filmy thing, with bounds of demarcation which are actually 
nebulous. This doubtless arises from the fact that all such 
laws are based on the theory that it is good to help such 
contracting parties to the secure and speedy fulfilment of 
their wishes. But anyone who thinks that they are loose 
in either purpose or action is apt to be rudely enlightened. 
The Scots’ Marriage laws demand that there be a manifest 
and honest intention of marriage on the part of the con- 
tractors. This intention can be proved in many ways. In- 
deed the law in certain cases is willing to infer it, when 
direct proof is not attainable, from subsequent acts of the 
parties. I may fairly say that in all such cases courts of 
law will hold that mutuality of intention is of the essence 
of marriage rite. This followed by co-habitation is the 
marriage; though the latter to follow close on the declara- 
tion is not always deemed necessary. In our law the mar- 
riage may be either of two kinds. The most formal is 
that effected by a minister or proper official after due calling 
of banns, or by notice given to sheriff or registrar. The 
other form is by what is known in the law as ‘ Irregular 
marriage.’ This is in legal parlance — for which I make 
no apology as it is necessary that all married folk, or those 
intending to enter that honourable condition should under- 
stand it — is known as ‘ intention followed by copula.’ Now 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 


277 

you must know that either form of marriage is equally 
binding — equal in law and honour; and when the condi- 
tions attached to each form have been duly fulfilled such 
marriage is irrefragable. In old days this facility of mar- 
riage made Gretna Green, which is the first place across 
the Border, the objective for eloping lovers matrimonially 
inclined ; and as till 1856 no previous residence in Scotland 
was required, romance was supposed to stop at the Border. 
That is, the marriage could be effected and parental objec- 
tions — did such exist — were overborne. There were many 
cynical souls who held that repentance for the hasty mar- 
riage could then begin. I feel bound to say that this is an 
opinion in which I do not myself share. 

“ In 1856 an Act of Parliament, 20th Viet. Cap. 96, was 
passed, by which it became necessary for the validity of 
irregular marriage that at least one of the two contractors 
should have his or her usual residence in Scotland, or have 
been resident in Scotland for three full weeks next pre- 
ceding the marriage. 

“ I thank you. Colonel Ogilvie, for having listened to 
me so patiently. But as I have no doubt that you three 
have much to say to each other I shall withdraw for the 
present. This will leave you free to discuss matters. And 
perhaps I may say, as an old man as well as a responsible 
officer of the Law, that I trust the effect will be to make 
for peace and amity. I am staying here in the hotel and I 
^hall take it as a great pleasure and a great honour if you 
will breakfast with me in say an hour’s time. All your 
family will be most welcome.” With a bow, in which defer- 
ence and geniality were mingled, he withdrew. 

Each of the three left kept looking at each other in silence. 
Joy drew closer to Athlyne and took his hand. Colonel 
Ogilvie pretended not to notice the act — an effort on his 
part which made his daughter radiant with hope. The 
first words spoken were by the Colonel : 

“ That man is a gentleman ! ” The two others felt that 


LADY ATHLYNE 


578 

silence was present discretion ; to agree with Colonel Ogil- 
vie in his present mood was almost as dangerous as to dis- 
agree with him. His next words were in no way con- 
ciliatory though the arriere pensSe made for hope. 

“ Now sir, what have you to say for yourself in this 
unhappy matter? Remember I in no way relax my inten- 
tion of — of punishment ; but I am willing to hear what you 
have to say.” Athlyne winced at the word “ punishment,” 
which was not one which he was accustomed to hear applied 
to himself. But for Joy’s sake he made no comment. He 
even kept his face fixed so as not to betray his anger. He 
felt that any change of subject, or drifting off that before 
them, must be for the better ; things could, he felt, hardly 
be worse than at present. Moreover, it might smooth mat- 
ters somewhat if Colonel Ogilvie could be brought to recol- 
lect that he was not himself an undesirable person for 
alliance, and that his intention of matrimony had been 
already brought before Joy’s father. In this conviction he 
spoke : 

“As in this country, sir, intention counts for so much, 
may I crave your indulgence for a moment and refer you 
back to my letter to you on the subject of a very dear wish 
of mine — a wish put before you with a very decided inten- 
tion.” Colonel Ogilvie’s answer, given in manner of equal 
suavity, was disconcerting; the bitterness behind it was 
manifest. 

“ I think sir, there must be some error — which is not 
mine. I never received any letter from you ! Your episto- 
lary efforts seem to have been confined to the ladies of my 
family.” With an effort Athlyne restrained himself. 
When he felt equal to the task he spoke, still with a manner 
of utmost deference: 

“ An error there surely is ; but it is not mine either. I 
posted yesterday at the Ambleside post office a letter to 
you. . . .” He was interrupted by Colonel Ogilvie who 

said bluntly : 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 


279 

I am not so sure, sir, that the fault of my not reading 
such a letter was not yours ; though perhaps not in the direct 
manner you mean. When I arrived home last night and 
found the horrible state of things with regard to my daugh- 
ter’s rash act — due to you ” this with a look of actual malev- 
olence “ I was so upset that I did not look at the pile of 
letters awaiting me. I only read Joy’s messages.” As 
he said this Athlyne’s eyes flashed and there was an answer- 
ing flash in the eyes of the woman who looked so keenly at 
him ; this was the first time since his arrival that the father 
had condescended to even mention his daughter’s name. 
There might be some softening of that hard nature after 
all. Then the old man continued : 

“ I put them in my pocket ; here they are ! ” — Whilst he 
looked at the envelopes in that futile way that some people 
unused to large correspondence love, Joy said with an easy 
calmness which made her lover glance at her in surprise: 

“ Daddy, hadn’t you better read your letters now ; we 
shall wait.” The tone was so much that to which he was 
accustomed from her that he did not notice the com- 
promising “ we ” which would otherwise have inflamed him 
afresh. Drawing a chair close to one of the windows he 
opened the letters and began to read. Athlyne and Joy, 
instinctively and with unity of thought, moved towards the 
other window which was behind him. There they stood 
hand in hand, their eyes following every movement of the 
old man. Joy did not know, of course, what was in the 
letter; but she had seen it before in the garden at Amble- 
side and when he had posted it before setting out on their 
motor ride. And so, piecing her information with the 
idea conveyed by her lover’s recent words, she was able 
to form some sort of idea of its general import. A soft, 
beautiful blush suffused her face, and her eyes glistened as 
she stood thinking; in the effort of thought she recalled 
many sweet passages. She now understood in a vague 
way what was the restraining influence which had moved 


28 o 


LADY ATHLYNE 


her lover to reticence during all those hours when he had 
tried to tell her of his love and his hopes without actually 
speaking words, the knowledge of which given without his 
consent would have incensed her father against him, and 
so wrought further havoc. So moved was she that Athlyne, 
whose eyes were instinctively drawn to her from the obser- 
vation of her father, was amazed and not a little discon- 
certed. There must be some strange undercurrent of feel- 
ing in her which he could not understand. Joy saw the 
look on his face and seemed to understand. She raised 
to her lips the hand that she so strongly clasped in hers 
and kissed it. Then she raised a finger of her other hand 
and touched her lips. Thus reassured of her love and 
understanding, Athlyne followed with his eyes the trend 
of hers ; and so together they continued to watch her father, 
trying to gather from his bearing some indication of his 
thoughts. Indeed this was not a difficult matter. Colonel 
Ogilvie seemed to have lost himself in his task, and ex- 
pressed his comments on what he read by a series of child- 
like movements and ejaculations. Athlyne who knew what 
the letter contained could apply these enlightening com- 
ments, and even Joy in her ignorance of detail could infer- 
entially follow the text. Colonel Ogilvie did say a word of 
definite speech, but the general tendency of his comment 
was that of surprise — astonishment. When he had finished 
reading Athlyne’s letter — it was the last of the batch — he 
sat for quite half a minute quite still and silent, holding the 
paper between finger and thumb of his dropped left hand. 
Then with a deep frown on his forehead he began to read 
it again. He was evidently looking for some passage, for 
when he had found it he stood up at once and turned to 
them. By this time Joy, warned by the movement, had 
dropped her lover’s hand and now stood some distance 
away from him. The old man began: 

“ Sir . . . There is a passage in a letter here which 

I understand to be yours. So far I must acknowledge that 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 


281 


I have been wrong. You evidently did send the letter, and 
I evidently received it. Listen to this: ‘Having heard in 
a roundabout way that there was a woman in New York 
who was passing herself off as my wife I undertook a jour- 
ney to that City to make investigation into the matter ; and 
in order to secure the necessary secrecy as to my move- 
ments took for the time an assumed name — or rather used 
as Christian and surname two of those names in the middle 
of my full equipment which I do not commonly use.’ What 
does all that mean? No, do not speak. Wait and I shall tell 
you. You say the lady — woman you call her — took your 
name. For saying such a thing, and for the disrespect in 
her description as a woman, you will have to answer me. 
Either of them will cost you your life.” Athlyne answered 
with a quiet, impressive dignity which helped in some de- 
gree to reassure Joy who stood motionless in open-eyed 
wonder — her heart seeming to her as cold as ice at the 
horror of this new phase of danger. It was a veritable 
“ bolt from the blue,” incomprehensible to her in every way : 

“ Colonel Ogilvie, I regret I shall be unable to meet your 
wishes in this respect ! ” As the old man looked astonished 
in his turn, he proceeded: 

“ I already owe you a life on another count ; and I have 
but one. But if I had ten you should have them all, could 
they in any way assuage the sorrow which it seems must 
follow from my thoughtless act. I have told you already 
that I shall freely give my life in expiation of the wrong I 
have — all unintentionally — done to your daughter and your- 
self. And if any means could be found by which it could 
add to Joy’s happiness or lessen her sorrow I should in 
addition and as freely give my soul ! ” 

Colonel Ogilvie’s reception of these words was char- 
acteristic of the man, as he took himself to be. He drew 
himself up to his full height and stood at attention. Then 
he saluted, and followed his salute with a grave bow. The 
soldier in him spoke first, the man after. Both Joy and 


282 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Athlyne noticed with new hope that he allowed the speak- 
ing of her name to pass unchallenged as a further cause 
of ofifence. Presently, and in a new tone, he said : 

“ I have taken it for granted from the allusions in your 
letter that you are the writer; and from your mentioning 
an alias have not been surprised at seeing a strange name 
in the signature. But I have been and am surprised at the 
familiarity from a man of your years to a man of mine of 
a mere Christian name.” 

It was now Athlyne’s turn to be surprised. 

“ A Christian name ! ” he said with a puzzled pucker of 
his brows. “ I am afraid I don’t understand.” Then a 
light dawning on him he said with a slight laugh : ** But 
that is not my Christian name.” 

“ Then your surname ? ” queried the Colonel. 

Nor my surname either.” His laugh was now more 
pronounced, more boyish. 

“ Oh I see ; still another alias ! ” The words were bitter ; 
the tone of manifest offence. 

Athlyne laughed again; it was not intentional but purely 
spontaneous. He was recalled to seriousness by the look 
of pain and apprehension on Joy’s face and by the Colonel’s 
angry words, given with a look of fury: 

“ I am not accustomed to be laughed at — and to my face 
Mr. — Mr. — Mr. Richard Hardy Athlyne et cetera.” 

His apology for inopportune mirth was given with con- 
trition — even humbly: 

“ I ask your pardon, Colonel Ogilvie, very deeply, very 
truly. But the fact is that Athlyne is my proper signa- 
ture, though it is neither Christian name nor surname. I 
do hope you will attribute my rudeness rather to national 
habit than to any personal wish to wound. Surely you 
will see that I would at least be foolish to transgress in 
such a direction, if it be only that I aim at so much that it 
is in your power to grant.” There was reason in this which 
there was no resisting. Colonel Ogilvie bowed — he felt 


KNOWLEDGE OF LAW 283 

that he could do no less. Athlyne wisely said no more; 
both men regarded the incident as closed. 

With Joy it was different. The incident gave her the 
information she lacked for the completion of the circle of 
her knowledge. As with a flash she realised the whole 
secret : that this man who had saved her life and whom now 
her father wanted to kill was none other than the man whose 
name she had taken — at first in sport and only lately in order 
to protect herself from troubles of inquisitiveness and scan- 
dal. At the moment she was in reality the only one of the 
three — the only one at all — who had in her hand all the 
clues. Neither her father nor Athlyne knew that she had 
given to the maid at the hotel a name other than her own. 

She began to have also an unconscious knowledge of 
something else. Something which she could not define, 
some intuition of some coming change; something which 
hinged on her giving of the name. Now, for the first time 
she realised how dangerous it may be for any one to take 
the name of any other person — for any purpose whatever, 
or from any cause. She could not see the end. 

But though her brain did not classify the idea her blood 
did. She blushed so furiously that she had serious thoughts 
of escaping from the room. Nothing but the danger which 
might arise from such a step kept her in her place. But 
something must, she felt, be done. Things were so shaping 
towards reconciliation that it would be wise to prevent mat- 
ters slipping back. For an instant she was puzzled as to 
what to do; then an inspiration came to her. Turning to 
her father she said: 

‘‘ Daddy, let us ask the old Sheriff to come in again ! ” 
She felt that she could rely on his discretion, and that in 
his hands things might slide into calmer waters. Her father 
acquiesced willingly, and a courteous message was sent 
through a servant. 


CHAPTER • XXI 


APPLICATION OF LAW 

Whilst the servant was gone there was a great clatter of 
arrival of a motor at the hotel; but all in Athlyne’s room 
were too deeply concerned with their own affairs to notice it. 

Presently there was a light tap at the door, and the 
Sheriff’s May I come in ? ” was heard. Colonel Ogilvie 
went himself to the door and threw it open. Beside the 
Sheriff stood a lady, heavily clad and with a motor veil. 

“ Joy ! Joy ! ” said the veiled figure, and Aunt Judy step- 
ping forward took the girl in her arms. In the meantime 
the Sheriff was explaining the situation : 

“ I was just coming from my room in obedience to your 
summons, when this lady entered the hall. She was asking 
for you. Colonel, and for Miss Ogilvie, as who she had 
learned at the railway station, was stopping here. I ven- 
tured to offer my services, and as she was coming up here, 
undertook to pilot her.” 

Joy was delighted to see Judy. She had so long been 
accustomed to look with fixed belief on her love and friend- 
ing that she now expected she would be able to set matters 
right. Had she had any doubt of her Aunt’s affection such 
must have soon disappeared in the warmth of the embrace 
accorded by her. When this was concluded — which was 
soon for it was short, if strenuous — she turned to Colonel 
Ogilvie and held out her hand : 

“ Good morning, Lucius. I see you got here all right. 
I hope you had a good journey? ” Then turning to Athlyne 
she said, as if in surprise: 

“ Why, Mr. Hardy, how are you ? And how do you 
come to be here? We thought we were never going to see 
you again.” Then she rattled on; it was evident to Joy, 

284 


APPLICATION OF LAW 285 

and to Colonel Ogilvie also, that she was purposeful to 
baffle comment by flow of her own speech : 

“ Lucius, you must thank this gentleman who is, as the 
landlady whispered to me, the Sheriff of somewhere or 
other. He’s a nice man, but a funny sort of Sheriff. When 
I asked him where was his posse he didn’t know what I 
meant.” Here she was interrupted by the Sheriff who said 
with a low bow to her : 

“ It is enough for any man, dear lady, to be in esse in 
such a charming presence ! ” Judy did not comprehend the 
joke; but she knew, being a woman, that some sort of 
compliment was intended; and, being a woman, beamed 
accordingly : 

Thank you, sir, both for your kindness in helping me 
and for your pretty talk. Joy, I have brought your dressing 
bag and a fresh rig out. You must need them, poor dear. 
Now you must tell me all your adventures. I told them to 
bring the things presently to your room. I shall then come 
with you whilst you are changing. Now, Mr. Sheriff, we 
must leave you for a little; but I suppose that as you have 
to talk business — ^you told me they had sent for you — you 
will doubtless prefer to be without us?” 

“ Your pardon,” said the Sheriff gracefully. “ I hope 
the time will never come when I shall prefer to be without 
such charming company ! ” This was said with such a 
meaning look, and in such a meaning tone, that Judy 
coloured. Joy, unseen by the others, smiled at her, rejoicing. 
The Sheriff, thinking they were moving off, turned to the 
Colonel saying : 

Now, Colonel Ogilvie, I am at your disposal ; likewise 
such knowledge of law and custom as I possess.” He 
purposely addressed himself to Colonel Ogilvie, evidently 
bearing in mind Athlyne’s look of warning to silence 
regarding himself. 

Whilst he had been speaking, Joy stood still, holding 
Judy by the hand and keeping her close to her. Judy 


286 


LADY ATHLYNE 


whispered, holding her mouth close to her ear and trying 
to avoid the observation of the others : 

Come away dear whilst they are talking. They will 
be freer alone ! ” Joy whispered in return : 

“No, I must not go. I must stay here, I am wanted. 
Do not say anything, dear — not a word; but stay by me.” 
Judy in reply squeezed her hand and remained silent. 
Colonel Ogilvie, with manifest uneasiness and after clearing 
his throat, said to the Sheriff: 

“ As you have been so good sir, as to tell me some 
matters of law; and as you have very kindly offered us 
other services, may I trespass on your kindness in enlight- 
ening me as to some matters of fact.” The Sheriff bowed ; 
he continued: 

“ I must crave your indulgence, for I -am in some very 
deep distress, and possibly not altogether master of myself. 
But I need some advice, or at any rate enlightenment as to 
some matters of law. And as I am far from home and 
know no one here who is of legal authority — except your- 
self,” this with a bow, “ I shall be deeply grateful if I 
may accept your kindness and speak to you as a friend.” 
Again the Sheriff bowed, his face beaming. Colonel 
Ogilvie, with a swift, meaning glance at each of the others 
in turn, went on: 

“ I must ask you all to keep silent. I am speaking with 
this gentleman for my own enlightenment, and require no 
comments from any of you. Indeed, I forbid interrup- 
tion ! ” Unpromising as this warning sounded, both Joy 
and Athlyne took a certain comfort from it. The point 
they both attached importance to was that Athlyne was 
simply classed with the rest without differentiation. The 
Sheriff, who feared lest the father’s domineering tone might 
provoke hostilities, spoke quickly : 

“ Now, Colonel Ogilvie, I am at your disposal for 
whatever you may wish to ask me.” 

“ I suppose Mr. Sheriff, I need not say, that I trust you 


APPLICATION OF LAW 287 

will observe honourable silence regarding this whole 
painful affair ; as I expect that all present will.” This was 
said with a threatening smile. When the Sheriff bowed 
acceptance of the condition he went on: 

“ Since you spoke to us here a little while ago a strange 
enlightenment has come to me. Indeed a matter so strange 
and so little in accord with the experiences of my own life 
that I am in a quandary. I should really like to know 
exactly how I — how we all stand at present. From what 
you have said about the Scottish marriage laws I take it 
that you have an inkling of what has gone on. And so, 
as you are in our confidence, you will not perhaps mind if 
I confide further in you?” 

“ I shall be deeply honoured, Colonel Ogilvie.” 

“ Thank you again, sir. You are a true friend to a man 
in deep distress and in much doubt . . . We are, as 

you perhaps know, Americans. My daughter’s life was 
saved by a gentleman in New York. I think it right to 
say that it was on his part a very gallant act, and that we 
were all deeply grateful to him. He came to my house — 
at my own invitation; and my wife and her sister. Miss 
Judith Hayes ” — the Sheriff turned to Judy and bowed as 
at an introduction ; she curtsied in reply — “ were very 
pleased with him. But we never saw him again. He 
returned very soon afterwards to England; and though 
we were coming to London he never came near us. Indeed 
his neglect was marked; for though I invited him to call, 
he ignored us.” As he said this he looked straight at 
Athlyne with hard eyes. “ I have reason to know that 
my daughter was much interested in him. Ordinarily 
speaking I should not mention a matter of this kind. But 
as I have received from him — it has only been made known 
to me in the interval since our meeting — an assurance of his 
affection and a proffer of marriage, I feel that I may 
speak.” He turned away and began walking up and down 
the room as though trying to collect his thoughts. 


288 


LADY ATHLYNE 


As Joy heard him speak of her own interest in the man 
and of his proposal of marriage she blushed deeply, letting 
her eyes fall. But when, by some of the divine instinct of 
love, she knew that he was looking ardently at her she 
raised them, swimming, to his. And so once more they 
looked deep into each other’s souls. Judy felt the trembling 
of the girl’s hand and held it harder with a sympathetic 
clasp, palm to palm and with fingers interlaced. She felt 
that she understood; and her eyes, too, became sympa- 
thetically suffused. The Sheriff had now no eyes except 
for Judy. Whilst the Colonel had been speaking he had 
looked at him of course — he knew well that it would be 
a cause of offence if he did not. But the walking up and 
down gave him opportunity for his wishes. Judy could 
not but recognise the ardour of his glance, and she too 
blushed exceedingly. Somehow, she was glad of it; she 
knew that blushing became her, and she felt that she would 
like to look her best to the eyes of this fine, kindly old man. 

When Colonel Ogilvie began to speak again there was 
a change in him. He seemed more thoughtful, more cau- 
tious, more self-controlled; altogether he was more like 
his old self. There was even a note of geniality in his 
voice. 

“ What I want to ask you in especial is this : How can 
we avoid any sort of scandal over this unhappy occur- 
rence? My daughter has acted thoughtlessly in going out 
alone in a motor with a gentleman. Through a series of 
accidents it appears that that ride was unduly and unin- 
tentionally prolonged, and ended in her being caught in a 
fog and lost. By accident she came here, walking after 
the motor had broken down. She slept last night in that 
room; and the man, who had also found his way hither 
later, slept, unknowing of her proximity, in this. I need 
not tell you that such a state of things is apt to lead to a 
scandal. Now, and now only, is the time to prevent 
it ” . . . He was interrupted by the Sheriff who spoke 


APPLICATION OF LAW 289 

hurriedly, as one who had already considered the question 
and had his mind made up : 

There will be no scandal ! ” He spoke in so decided 
a way that the other was impressed. 

“ How do you know ? What ground have you for 
speaking so decidedly ? 

It rests entirely on you — yourself, Colonel Ogilvie.” 

“ What ! ” His tone was laden with both anger and 
surprise. Do you think I would spread any ill report of 

my own daughter? Sir, you must ” Once more the 

Sheriff cut into his speaking: 

You misapprehend me. Colonel Ogilvie. You mis- 
apprehend me entirely. Why should I — how could I think 
such a thing! No! I mean that if you accept the facts 
as they seem to me to be, no one — not you, nor any one 
else, can make scandal ; if you do not ! 

Explain yourself,” he interrupted. “ Nay, do not think 
me rude ” — here he put up a deprecating hand — “ but I 
am so deeply anxious about my daughter’s happiness — her 
future welfare and happiness,” he added as he remembered 
how his violent attitude had, only a few minutes ago im- 
perilled — almost destroyed, that happiness. Joy had been, 
off and on, whispering a word to her aunt so that the latter 
was now fairly well posted in the late events. 

Quite so ! quite so, my dear sir. Most natural thing 
in the world,” said the Sheriff soothingly. Usual thing 
under the circumstances is to kill the man; or want to kill 
him ! ” As he spoke he looked at Athlyne meaningly. The 
other understood and checked the words which were rising 
to his lips. Then, having tided over the immediate danger 
of explosion, the Sheriff went on : 

The fact is Colonel Ogilvie, that the series of doings 
(and perhaps misdoings) and accidents, which have led 
to our all meeting here and now, has brought about a strange 
conclusion. So far as I can see ” — here his manner grew 
grave and judicial — “ these two young people are at the 


290 LADY ATHLYNE 

present moment man and wife. Lawfully married according 
to Scottish law ! ” 

The reception of this dictum was varied. Colonel Ogilvie 
almost collapsed in overwhelming amazement. Joy, blush- 
ing divinely, looked at her husband adoringly. Athlyne 
seemed almost transfigured and glorified; the realisation 
of all his hopes in this sudden and unexpected way showed 
unmistakably how earnest they had been. Judy, alone of 
all the party, was able to express herself in conventional 
fashion. This she did by clapping her hands and, then by 
kissing the whole party — except the Sheriff who half stood 
forward as though in hope that some happy chance might 
include him in the benison. She began with Joy and went 
on to her brother-in-law, who accepted with a better grace 
than she feared would have been accorded. When she 
came to Athlyne she hesitated for a moment, but with a 

now-or-never ” rush completed the act, and fell back 
shyly with a belated timorousness. 

The Sheriff, having paused for the completion of this 
little domestic ceremony, went on calmly: 

“ Since I left you a few minutes ago I have busied 
myself with making a few necessary inquiries from my old 
servant Jane McBean, now McPherson. I made them, I 
assure you Colonel Ogilvie, very discreetly. Even Jane, 
who is in her way a clever woman, has no suspicion that 
I was even making inquiry. The result has been to confirm 
me in my original conjecture, which was to the effect that 
there has been executed between these two people an 
' irregular ’ marriage ! ” At the mention of the words the 
Colonel exploded : 

“ God’s death, sir, the women of the Ogilvies don’t make 
irregular marriages ! ” The Sheriff went calmly on, only 
noticing the protest for the sake of answering it. 

By this time Joy and Judith were close together, holding 
hands. Insensibly the girl drew her Aunt over to where 
Athlyne was standing and took him by the arm. He raised 


APPLICATION OF LAW 291 

his other hand and with it covered the hand that lay on his 
arm, pressing it closer as he listened attentively to the 
Sheriff’s expounding of the law: 

“ I gather that I did not express myself clearly when a 
short time ago I spoke of the Scottish marriage laws. Let 
me now be more precise. And as I am trying to put into 
words understandable by all a somewhat complex subject 
I shall ask that no one present will make any remark what- 
ever till this part of my task has been completed. I shall 
then answer to the best of my power any question or 
questions which any of you may choose to ask me. 

‘‘ Let me begin by assuring you all that what in Scot- 
tish law we call an ‘ irregular ’ marriage is equally binding 
in every way with a ' regular ’ marriage ; the word only 
refers to form or method, and in no wise to the antecedents 
or to the result. In our law ‘ Mutual Consent ’ constitutes 
marriage. You will observe that I speak of marriage — 
not the proof of it. Proof is quite a different matter; and 
as it is formally to be certified by a Court it is naturally 
hedged in by formalities. This consent, whether proved 
or not, whether before witnesses or not, should of course 
be followed by co-habitation ; but even this is not necessary. 
The dictum of Scots’ law is " Concensus non concuhitus 
facit matrimonium/ But I have a shrewd suspicion that the 
mind of the Court is helped to a declaration of validity when 
concensus has been followed by concubitus. 

Now let us take the present case and examine it as 
though testing it in a Court of Law; for such is the true 
means to be exact. This man and woman — we don’t know 
' gentleman ’ and ‘ lady ’ in the Law — declared in the pres- 
ence of witnesses that they were man and wife. That is, 
the man declared to the police sergeant at Dairy that the 
woman was his wife; and the woman declared timeously 
to the police officer who made the arrest that the man was 
her husband. These two statements, properly set out, would 
in themselves be evidence not only of inferred consent by 


LADY ATHLYNE 


292 

declaration de prcesenti but of the same thing by ‘ habit 
and repute/ The law has been thus stated: 

“ ‘ It may be held that a man and a woman, by living 

* together and holding themselves out as married persons, 
‘ have sufficiently declared their matrimonial consent ; and 
‘ in that case they will be declared to be married although 
‘ no specific promise of marriage or of de prcesenti ac- 

* knowledgement has been proved/ 

“But there is a still more cogent and direct proof, should 
such be required. Each of these consenting parties to the 
contract of ‘ marriage by consent,’ on coming separately 
to this hotel last night gave to the servant of the house 
who admitted them the name by which I hold they are now 
bound in honourable wedlock ! ” He spoke the last sen- 
tences gravely and impressively after the manner of an 
advocate pressing home on a jury the conclusion of an 
elaborate train of reasoning. Whilst speaking he had kept 
his eyes fixed on Colonel Ogilvie, who unconsciously took 
it that an exhortation on patience and toleration was being 
addressed to him. The effect was increased by the action 
of Joy, who seeing him all alone and inferring his spiritual 
loneliness, left Judith but still holding Athlyne’s arm drew 
the latter towards him. Then she took her father’s arm 
and stood between the two men whom she loved. Judy 
quietly took Athlyne’s other arm, and so all stood in line 
holding each other as they faced the Sheriff. No one said 
a word; all were afraid to break the silence. 

“We now come to further proofs if such be required. 
The woman, who arrived first, gave the name of Lady 
Athlyne.” Here Joy got fearfully red; she was conscious 
of her father’s eyes on her, even before she heard him say : 

“That foolish joke again! Did not I forbid you to use 
it daughter?” She felt it would be unwise to answer, to 
speak at all just at present. In desperation she raised her 
eyes to the face of her lover — and was struck with a sort 
of horrified amazement. For an instant it had occurred to 


APPLICATION OF LAW 


293 


him that Joy must have known his identity — for some time 
past at all events. The thought was, however, but mo- 
mentary. Her eyes fell again quickly, and she stood in 
abashed silence. There was nothing to do now but to wait. 
The calm voice of the Sheriff went on, like the voice of 
Doom : 

“ The man arrived later. He himself had wired in his 
own name for rooms ; but by the time he had arrived the 
possibility of his coming had, owing to the fog, been given 
up. The other traveller had been given the bedroom, and 
he slept on the sofa in the sitting-room — this room.” As 
he spoke he went over to the door of communication be- 
tween the rooms and examined the door. There were no 
fastenings except the ordinary latch; neither lock nor bolt. 
He did not say a word, but walked back to his place. Judy 
could not contain her curiosity any longer; she blurted 
out : 

“ What name did he give ? ” The Sheriff looked at her 
admiringly as he answered: 

The name he gave, dear lady, was ‘ Athlyne ’ ! ” 

“ Is that your name ? ” she queried — this time to Athlyne. 

“ It is ! ” He pulled himself up to his full height and 
stood on his dignity as he said it. His name should not be 
dishonoured if he could help it. 

Colonel Ogilvie stood by with an air of conscious superi- 
ority. He already knew the name from Athlyne’s letter, 
though he had not up to that moment understood the full 
import of it. He was willing to be further informed through 
Judy’s questioning. 

And you are Lord Athlyne — the Earl of Athlyne ? ” 

Certainly ! ” 

To the astonishment of every one of the company Judy 
burst into a wild peal of hysterical laughter. This closely 
followed a speech of broken utterance which only some of 
those present understood at all— and of those some only 
some few partly. “ Athlyne ! ” — “ kill him for it ! ” — “ calling 


LADY ATHLYNE 


m 

herself by his name,” — “ oh ! oh ! A-h-h ! ” There was a pro- 
longed screceh and then hysterical laughter followed. At 
the first this unseemly mirth created a feeling of repulsion 
in all who heard. It seemed altogether out of place; in 
the midst of such a serious conversation, when the lives and 
happiness of some of those present were at stake, to have 
the train of thought broken by so inopportune a cachinna- 
tion was almost unendurable. Colonel Ogilvie was furious. 
Well was it for the possibilities of peace that his peculiar 
life and ideas had trained him to be tolerant of woman’s 
weakness, and to be courteous to them even under difficul- 
ties. For had he given any expression to his natural enough 
feelings such would inevitably have brought him into col- 
lision — intellectual if not physical — with both Athlyne and 
the Sheriff ; and either was to be deplored. Joy was in her 
heart indignant, for several reasons. It was too hard that, 
just as things were possibly beginning to become right and 
the fine edge of tragedy to be turned, her father’s mind 
should be taken back to anger and chagrin. But far beyond 
this on the side of evil was the fact that it imperilled afresh 
the life of — of the man she loved, her . . . her husband. 
Even the personal aspect to her could not be overlooked. The 
ill-timed laughter prevented her hearing more of ... of the 
man who it now seemed was already her husband. How- 
ever she restrained and suppressed herself and waited, still 
silent, for the development of things. But she did not con- 
sider looks as movements; she raised her eyes to Athlyne’s 
adoringly, and kept them there. He in turn had been greatly 
upset for the moment ; even now, whilst those wild peals of 
hysterical laughter continued to resound, he could not draw 
any conclusions from the wild whirl of inchoate thoughts. 
There was just one faint gleam of light which had its origin 
rather in instinct than reason, that perhaps the interrup- 
tion had its beneficial side which would presently be made 
manifest. When Joy looked towards him there was a balm 
for his troubled spirit. In the depths of her beautiful eyes 


APPLICATION OF LAW 


295 

he lost himself — and his doubts and sorrows, and was 
content. 

The only one unmoved was the Sheriff. His mental at- 
titude allowed him to look at things more calmly than did 
those personally interested. With the exception of one 
phase — ^that of concern that this particular woman, who had 
already impressed her charming personality on his heart, 
should be in such distress — he could think, untroubled, of 
the facts before him. With that logical mind of his, and 
with his experience of law and the passions that lead to law- 
invoking, he knew that the realization of Athlyne’s name 
and position was a troublesome matter which might have 
been attended with disastrous consequences. To a man of 
Colonel Ogilvie’s courage and strong passion the presence 
of an antagonist worthy of his powers is rather an incentive 
to quarrel than a palliative. 

As to poor Judy she was in no position to think at all. 
She was to all practical intents, except for the noise she was 
occasionally making — ^her transport was subsiding — as one 
who is not. She continued intermittently her hysterical 
phrenzy — to laugh and cry, each at the top note — and com- 
mingling eternally. She struggled violently as she sat on the 
chair into which she had fallen when the attack began ; she 
stamped her heels on the floor, making a sound like gigantic 
castanets. The sound and restless movement made an em- 
barrassing milieu for the lucid expression of law and en- 
tangled facts ; but through it all the Sheriff, whose purpose 
after all was to convince Ogilvie, went on with his state- 
ment. By this time Joy, and Athlyne, whom with an ap- 
pealing look she had summoned to help, were endeavouring 
to restore Judy. One at either side they knelt by her, 
holding her hands and slapping them and exercising such 
other ministrations as the girl out of her limited experience 
of such matters could, happily to soothing effect, suggest. 
The Sheriff’s voice, as calm voices will, came through the 
disturbance seemingly unhindered: 


LADY ATHLYNE 


296 

“ Thus you will note that in all this transaction the Earl of 
Athlyne had made no disguise of his purpose. To the police 
who arrested him he at once disclosed his identity, which 
the sergeant told me was verified by the name on his motor- 
driver’s license. He telegraphed to the hotel by his title — 
as is fitting and usual; and he gave his title when he ar- 
rived. As I have already said, he stated to the police, at first 
on his own initiative and later when interrogated directly 
on the point, that the woman in the motor was his wife. 
And the identity of the woman in the motor and the woman 
in the hotel can easily be proved. Thus on the man’s part 
there is ample evidence of that matrimonial purpose which 
the law requires. All this without counting the letter to the 
woman’s father, in which he stated his wish and intention 
to marry her. 

“Now as to the woman — and I must really apologise to 
her for speaking of the matter in her presence.” — Here Ath- 
lyne interrupted his ministrations with regard to Judy in 
order to expostulate : 

“ Oh, I say Mr. Sheriff. Surely it is not necessary.” 
But the Sheriff shut him up quite shortly. He had a pur- 
pose in so doing : he wished in his secret heart to warn both 
Athlyne and Joy not to speak a word till he had indicated 
that the time had come for so doing. 

“ There is nothing necessary, my Lord ; except that both 
you and the young lady should listen whilst I am speaking ! 
I am doing so for the good of you both; and I take it as 
promised that neither of you will say a single word until 
I have told you that you may do so.” 

“ Quite right ! ” this was said sotto voce by Colonel Ogil- 
vie. 

“ You, young madam, have taken upon yourself the re- 
sponsibilities of wifehood ; and it is right as well as neces- 
sary that you understand them; such of them at least as 
have bearing upon the present situation. 

“ As to the woman. She, when questioned by the police 


APPLICATION OF LAW 


297 

as to her status for the purpose of verification of Lord Ath- 
lyne’s statement, accepted that statement. Later on, she of 
her own free will and of her own initiative, gave her name 
as Lady Athlyne — only the bearer of which could be the 
wife of the Defender; I mean of Lord Athlyne.’' The in- 
terruption this time came from Colonel Ogilvie. 

If Lord Athlyne is Defender, who is the other party? ” 

‘‘ Lady Athlyne, or Miss Ogilvie, in whichever name she 
might take action, would be the Pursuer ! ” 

“ Sir ! ” thundered the Colonel, going off as usual at half- 
cock, “ do you insinuate that my daughter is pursuer of a 
man ? ” He grew speechless with indignation. The Sher- 
iff’s coolness stood to him there, when the fury of the Ken- 
tuckian was directed to him personally. In the same even 
tone he went on speaking: 

“ I must ask — I really must ask that you do not be so hasty 
in your conclusions whilst I am speaking. Colonel Ogilvie. 
You must understand that I am only explaining the law; 
not even giving any opinion of my own. The terminology 
of Scot’s Law is peculiar, and differs from English law in 
such matters. For instance what in English law is * Plain- 
tiff and Defendant ’ becomes with us ‘ Pursuer and De- 
fender.’ There may be a female as well as a male Pursuer. 
Thus on the grounds of present consent as there is ample 
proof of Matrimonial Consent of either and both parties — 
sufficient for either to use against the other. I take it that 
the Court would hold the marriage proved ; unless both par- 
ties repudiated the Intent. This I am sure would never be ; 
for if there were any mutual affection neither would wish 
to cause such gossip as would inevitably ensue. And if 
either party preferred that the union should continue, either 
from motives of love or interest, the marriage could be held 
good. And I had better say at once, since it is a matter 
to be considered by any parent, that should there have been 
any valid ground for what you designate as ' scandal,’ such 
would in the eyes of the law be only the proper and neces- 


LADY ATHLYNE 


298 

sary completion of the act of marriage. And let me say 
also that the fact of the two parties, thus become one by the 
form of Irregular Marriage, having passed the night in this 
suite of rooms without bolt of fastening on the connecting 
door would be taken by a Court as proof of consummation. 
No matter by what entanglement of events — no matter how 
or by what’ accident or series of accidents the two parties 
came into this juxta-position ! 

“ There is but one other point to be considered regarding 
the validity of this marriage. It is that of compliance with 
the terms of Lord Brougham’s Act of 1856. The man has 
undoubted domicile in Scotland for certain legal purposes. 
But the marriage law requires a further and more rigid 
reading of residence than mere possession of estates. The 
words are that one of the parties to the marriage must * have 
his or her usual place of residence ’ in this Country. But 
as I have shown you that in Lord Athlyne’s case his living 
in Scotland for several weeks in one or other of his own 
houses would be certainly construed by any Court as com- 
pliance with the Act, I do not think that any question of 
legality could arise. Indeed it is within my own knowledge 
that as a Scottish peer — Baron of Ceann-da-Shail — who de- 
clared Scottish domicile on reaching his majority and whose 
* domicile of origin ’ was not affected by his absence as an 
officer in foreign service, his status for the purpose of Scot- 
tish marriage is unassailable. 

“ In fine let me point out that I am speaking altogether of 
proof of the marriage itself. The actual marriage is in law 
the consent of the parties; and such has undoubtedly taken 
place. The only possible condition of its nullity would be 
the repudiation of the implied Consent by both of the parties. 
One alone would not be sufficient! 

“ And now. Colonel Ogilvie, as I believe it will be well that 
you and the two young people should consider the situation 
from this point of view, will you allow me to withdraw — still 
on the supposition that you will join me later at breakfast. 


APPLICATION OF LAW 


299 


And if this merry lady ” — pointing to Judy who had gained 
composure sufficiently to hear the end of his explanation — 
‘‘ will honour me by coming to my sitting-room, just below 
this, where breakfast will be served, it may perhaps be bet- 
ter. I take it that you will be all able to speak more freely, 
you and your daughter — and her husband ! ” 

He withdrew gracefully, giving his arm to Judy who 
having risen bashfully had taken his extended arm. She 
was blushing furiously. 

The door closed behind him, leaving Joy standing be- 
tween her father and Athlyne, and holding an arrn of 
each. 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE HATCHET BURIED 

For a few minutes there was silence in the room; silence 
so profound that every sound of the street was clearly heard. 
Even the shutting of the Sheriff’s door in the room below 
was distinct. 

The first to speak was Colonel Ogilvie. Athlyne, who 
would have liked to break the silence refrained through 
prudence; he feared that were he to speak before Colonel 
Ogilvie did, that easily-irate gentleman might take offence. 
He knew that this might be disastrous, for it would renew 
the old strife in an acute form ; as it was, there were distinct 
indications of coming peace. Joy, and Joy alone, was to 
be thought of now. By this time Athlyne was beginning 
to get the measure of Colonel Ogilvie’s foot. He realised 
that the dictatorial, vindictive, blood-thirsty old man would 
perhaps do much if left to himself ; but that if hindered or 
thwarted or opposed in any way his pride or his vanity — 
and they were united in him — would force him to keep his 
position at any cost. 

“Well, sir?” The tone was so peremptory and so 
“ superior ” that any man to whom it had been used might 
well have taken offence; but Athlyne was already schooled 
to bear, and moreover the statement made by the Sheriff 
filled his heart with such gladness that he felt that he could 
bear anything. As Joy was now his wife he could not 
quarrel with her father — nor receive any quarrel from him. 
Still, all the same, he felt that he must support and maintain 
his own independent position; such would be the best road 
to ultimate peace. Moreover, he had his own pride; and 
as he had already made up his mind to die if need be for 

300 


THE HATCHET BURIED 


301 

Joy’s sake, he could not go back on that resolution without 
seeming to be disloyal to her. There would — could — be 
no hiding anything from her as she had already heard the 
whole of the quarrel and of his acquiescence to her father’s 
challenge. No one, however, would have thought he had 
any quarrel who heard his reply, spoken in exquisitely mod- 
ulated accents of respect: 

‘‘ Need I say. Colonel Ogilvie, that I am equally proud 
and happy in finding myself allied with your House by my 
marriage with your daughter. For, sir, I love her with all 
my soul, as well as with all my heart and mind. She is to 
me the sweetest, dearest and best thing in all the universe. 
I am proud of her and respect her as much as I love her; 
and to you, her father, I hope I may say that I bless — 
and shall ever bless for so long as I live — the day that 
I could call her mine.” As he spoke, Joy’s hand on his 
arm, which had trembled at the beginning, now gripped 
him hard and firmly. Turning his eyes to hers he saw in 
them a look of adoration which made his heart leap and his 
blood seem on fire. The beautiful eyes fell for an instant 
as a red tide swept her face and neck; but in an instant 
more they were raised to his eyes and hung there, beaming 
with pride and love and happiness. This nerved and softened 
him at once, to even a gentler feeling towards the old man ; 
those lovely eyes had always looked trustingly and 
lovingly into her father’s, and he would never disturb — so he 
vowed to himself — if he could avoid it by any sacrifice on 
his part, such filial and parental affection. And so, with 
gentler voice and softened mien, he went on speaking. 

Now I must ask you to believe, sir, that with the ex- 
ception of that one fault — a grave one I admit — of taking 
Miss Ogilvie out alone in my motor I have not willingly 
or consciously been guilty of any other disrespect towards 
you. You now understand, of course, that it was that un- 
happy assumed name which prevented my having the pleas- 
ure of visiting you and your family on this side of the 


302 


LADY ATHLYNE 


Atlantic. No one can deplore more than I do that unhappy 
alias. The other, though I regret — and regret deeply — the 
pain it has caused, I cannot be sorry for, since it has been 
the means of making Joy my wife.’^ 

Here he beamed down into the beautiful grey eyes of the 
said wife who was still holding his arm. As he finished 
she pinched gently the flesh of his arm. This sent a thrill 
through him ; it was a kiss of sorts and had much the same 
effect as the real thing. Joy noted the change in his voice 
as he went on: 

“ I so respected your wishes, sir, that I did not actually 
ask in words Joy to be my wife until I should have obtained 
your permission to address myself to her. If you will look 
at that letter you will see that it was written at Ceann-da- 
Shail, my place in Ross-shire — days before I posted it.’’ 

“ Then if you did not ask her to marry you ; how is it 
that you are now married — according to the Sheriff ? ” He 
thought this a poser, and beamed accordingly. Athlyne 
answered at once: 

“ When two people love each other, sir, as Joy and I do, 
speech is the least adequate form of expression. We did 
not want words; we knew! ” Again Joy squeezed his arm 
and they stood close together in a state of rapture. The 
Colonel, with some manifest hesitation, said : 

‘‘ With regard to what the Sheriff spoke of as ‘ real cause 
of scandal,’ was there. ... ?” 

“ That, sir,” said Athlyne interrupting with as fierce and 
truculent an aspect as had been to the Colonel at any mo- 
ment of the interview “ is a subject on which I refuse to 
speak, even to you.” Then after a pause he added: 

“ This I will say to you as her father who is entitled to 
hear it : Joy’s honour is as clear and stainless as the sun- 
light. Whatever has taken place has been my doing, and 
I alone am answerable for it.” Whilst he was speaking 
Joy stood close to him, .silent and with downcast eyes. In 
the prolonged silence which ensued she raised them, and 


THE HATCHET BURIED 


303 

letting go Athlyne’s arm stepped forward towards her father 
with flashing eyes: 

Father what he says is God’s truth. But there is one 
other thing which you should know, and you must know it 
from me since he will not speak. He is justified in speak- 
ing of my honour, for it was due — and due alone— to his 
nobility of character that I am as I am. That and your 
unexpected arrival. For my part I would have^ ” 

“Joy!” Athlyne^s voice though the tone was low, rang 
like a trumpet. Half protest it was, half command. In- 
stinctively the woman recognised the tone and obeyed, as 
women have obeyed the commands of the men they loved, 
and were proud to do so, from Eden garden down the ages. 

“ Speak on, daughter ! Finish what you were saying.” 
His voice was strangely soft and his eyes were luminous 
beneath their shaggy white brows. Joy’s answering tone 
was meek: 

“ I cannot, father. My . . . Mr.— Lord Athlyne 

desires that I should be silent.” She was astonished at his 
reply following : 

“ Well, perhaps he is right. Better so 1 ” Then in sotto 
voce to Athlyne: 

Women should not be allowed to talk sometimes. They 
go too far when they get to self-abasement 1 ” Athlyne 
nodded. Ag^ain silence which Colonel Ogilvie broke: 

Well, sir. I suppose we must take it that the marriage 
is complete in Scotch law. So far for the past. What of 
of the future ? ” In a low voice Athlyne replied : 

‘‘Whose future?” 

“ Yours^yours and my daughter’s.^’ He was amazed 
at Athlyne’s reply, spoken in a voice both low and sad: 
so too was Joy : 

“Of that I cannot say. It does not rest with me.” 

“ Not rest with you, sir ? Then with whom does it rest.” 
Athlyne raised his eyes and looked him straight in the face : 

“With you!” 


304 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“ With me ? ” the Colonel’s voice was faint with amaze- 
ment. 

“Yes, with you! What future have I, already con- 
demned to death! What future has my wife, whose sen- 
tence of widowhood came even before the knowledge of her 
marriage! Do you forget Colonel Ogilvie that my life is 
pledged to you? On your own doing, I took that obliga- 
tion; but having taken it I must abide by it. Such future 
as may be for either of us rests with you ! ” Colonel OgiJ' 
vie did not pause before answering. He spoke quickly 
one whose mind is made up : ' 

“ But that is all over.” Athlyne said quietly : ‘ 

“ You had not said so ! In an affair of this kind the chal- 
lenged man is not free to act. Pacific overture must be 
with the one who considering himself injured has sought 
this means of redress.” Joy listening, with her heart sink- 
ing and her hand so trembling that she took it from his 
arm lest it should upset him, was amazed. He was at least 
as determined as her father. But she was rejoiced to see 
that his stiffness was having its effect; her father was evi- 
dently respecting this very quality so much that he was 
giving way to his opponent. Seeing this, and recognising 
in her woman’s way for the first time in her life this funda- 
mental force, she made up her mind that she too would 
on her side keep steadfastly to her convictions just as 
. . . as . . . He had done. In silence she waited 

for what would follow this new development going on before 
her eyes. Presently Colonel Ogilvie spoke: 

“ I suppose Lord Athlyne you are satisfied with the 
validity of the marriage ? ” He answered heartily : 

“ Of course I am ! The Sheriff was quite clear about it ; 
and what he says is sufficient for me.” 

“ And your intention ? ” 

“ Sir, from the first moment when my eyes lit on your 
daughter I had only one intention, and that was to make 
her my wife. Be quite satisfied as to me! I am fixed as 


THE HATCHET BURIED 


305 

Fate! If there is any hindrance to my wishes it can only 
come from my wife. But understand this: that if for any 
cause whatever she may wish this marriage annulled, or 
consider that it has not been valid, she has only to indicate 
her wish and I shall take any step in my power to set 
her free.” 

“ Father ! ” Colonel Ogilvie turned in astonishment at 
the sound of his daughter’s voice, which was in such tone 
s he had never heard from her. It rang; her mind was 
ide up: 

' Father, a while ago when you seemed in some grave 
rouble I asked you why you did not ask me anything. I 
told you I had never lied to you and should not do so then ; 
but you asked me nothing. Why don’t you ask me now ? ” 
“ What should I ask you, little girl. You are married ; 
and your duty is to some one else whose name you bear. 
Besides, I don’t ask women questions which may be pain- 
ful to answer. Such I ask of men ! ” 

To this she spoke in a calm voice which made Athlyne 
uneasy. He could not imagine what she was coming at; 
but he felt that whatever it might be it was out of the 
truth of her nature, and that he must support her. Her 
love he never doubted. In the meantime he must listen 
patiently and learn what she had to say. 

“ Well father, as you will not ask I must speak unasked. 
It is harder; that is all. The Sheriff said that mutual in- 
tention was necessary for marriage. Let me tell you that 
I had not then such intention I I must say it. I have never 
lied to you yet ; and I don’t intend to begin now. Especially 
when I am entering on a new life with a man whom I love 
and honour. For if this marriage be not good we shall soon 
have one that is — if he will have me.” Athlyne took her 
hand; she sighed joyfully as she went on: 

“ I certainly did intend to marry Mr. . . . Lord 

Athlyne when . . . when he should formally ask me; 
but I understood then that there was some obstacle to his 


LADY ATHLYNE 


306 

doing so. This I now know to be that he was wanting to 
get your consent beforehand. But if I did not then in- 
tend that our coming for a run in the motor together 
was to be marriage, how can I by that act be married ? ” 
As she paused Athlyne realised what was the cause of that 
vague apprehension which had chilled him. Colonel Ogil- 
vie was beset by a new difficulty by this new attitude of 
Joy. If she repudiated intention such would nullify the 
marriage, since Athlyne had signified his intention of letting 
her have her way. If there were no marriage, then there 
would be scandal. So before beginning to argue with h 
daughter on the subject of the validity of the marriage, he 
thought it well to bring to the aid of reason the forces of 
fear. He commenced by intimidation: 

Of course you understand, daughter, that if you and 
Lord Athlyne were not married through the accidents of 
your escapade, there will be scandal from it; there is no 
other alternative. In that case, such pacific measures as 
I have now acceded to will be abrogated; and the gentle- 
man who was the cause of the evil must still answer to me 
for it.” At this threat Joy grew ghastly pale. Athlyne, 
wrung to the heart by it, forgot his intention of discretion 
and said quickly and sharply: 

“ That is not fair, Colonel Ogilvie. She is a woman — if 
she is your daughter, and is not to be treated brutally. 
You must not strike at a man through a woman. If you 
want to strike a man do so direct ! I am the man. Strike 
me, how and when you will ; but this woman is my wife — at 
least she is until she repudiates our marriage ! But till then 
by God! no man — not even her father himself — shall strike 
her or at her, or through her I ” Both he and Joy were 
surprised at the meek way in which the old man received 
this tirade. But even whilst he had been uttering the cruel 
threat both his conscience and his courage had been against 
him. This, the man and the woman who heard could, 
from evidence, divine. But there was another cause of 


THE HATCHET BURIED 


307 


which they had no knowledge. The moment after speak- 
ing, when his blind passion began to cool, the last words of 
his wife came back to his memory : “ Be good to her, and 
never forget that she can suffer most through any one dear 
to her.’^ Furthermore, the recollection of Judy’s words as 
he was leaving clinched the matter: “ You hold poor Joy’s 
life — which is her heart — in your hand ! ” He began his 
reply to Athlyne truculently — as was usual to him; but 
melted quickly as he went on : 

“ Hey-day my young bantam-eock ; you flash your spurs 
boldly. . . . But I don’t know but you’re right. I 
was wrong; I admit it! Joy my dear I apologise for it; 
and to you too, sir, who stand up so valiantly and so readily 
for your wife. I am glad my little girl has such a de- 
fender; though it is and will be a sad thought to me that 
I was myself the first to cause its evidence. But keep your 
hair on, young man! Men sometimes get hurt by run- 
ning up against something that’s quite in its right place 
. . . . It’s my place to look after my little girl — till 

such time as you have registered your bond-rights. And 
see, doesn’t she declare she had no idea she was being 
married. However, it’s all right in this case. I don’t mean 
her to give herself away over this part of the job any more 
than you did a while ago when you stopped her telling me 
something that it wouldn’t have been wise to say. So, sir, 
guess we’ll call it quits this time. Well, little girl, let me tell 
you that you’ve said all at once to me two different things. 
You said you didn't intend to marry Lord Athlyne that time, 
but that you did at some other. If that last doesn’t make 
an intention to marry I’m a Dutchman. I think we’d better 
let it rest at that! Now as to you Lord Athlyne! You 
seem to want — and rightly enough I’ll allow — that I make 
a formal retraction of my demand for your life. Well 
I do so now. There’s my hand ! I can give it to you freely, 
for you are a brave man and you love my little girl; and 
my little girl loves you. I’m right sorry I didn’t know you 


LADY ATHLYNE 


308 

at the first as I do now. But I suppose the fact is, I was 
jealous all along. You don’t know — ^yet — what I know: 
that you were thrown at me in a lot of ways before I ever 
saw you, by the joke that my little girl and Judy put up 
on me. When I knew that my girl was calling herself by 
your name. . . .” 

“Daddy dear!” This was Joy’s protest. “Yes, little 
girl, I won’t give you away ; but your husband should know 
this fact lest he keep a grudge in his heart against your 
old daddy — and I know you wouldn’t like that. You can 
tell him, some of these days or nights, what you like your- 
self about the whole thing from the first. I dare say he’ll 
want to know, and won’t let you alone till you tell him. 
And I dare say not then; for he’ll like — he’s bound to — all 
you can say. Here, Athlyne — I suppose that’s what I am 
to call you since you’re my son now — at any rate my daugh- 
ter’s husband.” As he spoke he held out his hand. Athlyne 
jumped forward and seized it warmly. The two men shook 
hands as do two strong men who respect each other. Joy 
stepped forward and took the clasped hands between her 
own. When the hands parted she kissed her husband and 
then her father; she had accepted the situation. 

After a pause Athlyne said, quietly but with a very reso- 
lute look on his face : 

“ I understand, sir, that the hatchet is now buried. But 
I want to say that this must be final. I do so lest you should 
ever from any cause wish to dig it up again. Oh, yes I 
understand ” — for the Colonel was going to speak “ but 
I have had a warning. Just now when it seemed that Joy 
was going to repudiate — though happily as it turned out 
for only a time — our marriage as an existing fact, you re- 
opened that matter which I had then thought closed. Now 
as for the future Joy’s happiness is my duty as well as my 
privilege and my pleasure, I must take all precautions which 
I can to insure it. It would not do if she could ever have 
in her mind a haunting fear that you and I could quarrel. 


THE HATCHET BURIED 


309 

I know that for my own part I would be no party to a quarrel 
with you. But I also have reason to know that a man’s 
own purpose is nothing when some one else wants to 

quarrel with him. Therefore for our dear Joy’s sake ” 

“Good!” murmured the Colonel. ''Our dear Joy’s 
sake ! ” Athlyne repeated the phrase — ^he loved to do so : 

“For our dear Joy’s sake will you not promise that you 
will never quarrel with me.” 

“ Indeed I will give the promise — and more. Listen 
here, little girl, for it is for your sake. I find I have been 
wrong to quarrel so readily and without waiting to under- 
stand. If a nigger did it I think I’d understand, for I don’t 
look for much from him. But I do expect much from 
myself ; and therefore I’ll go back a bit and go a bit farther. 
Hear me promise, so help me God, I’ll never quarrel again I 
Quarrel to kill I mean of course. Now, sir, are you satis- 
fied 1 ” Joy flung herself into his arms cooing lovingly : 

“ Dear, dear Daddy. Oh thank you so much ; you have 
made me so happy! That promise is the best wedding-gift 
you could possibly give me ! ” Athlyne took the hand ex- 
tended to him and wrung it heartily: 

“ And I too, thank you, sir. And, as I want to share in 
all Joy’s happiness and in her pleasant ways, I hope you 
will let me — as her husband — call you Daddy too ? ” 

“ Indeed you may, my boy ; I’ll be right glad ! ” 

It was a happy trio that stood there, the two men’s right 
hands clasping, and Joy once more holding the linked hands 
between hers. 

“We may go join the Sheriflf and Judy I think, little 
girl ! ” said the Colonel presently. He felt that he wanted 
to get back to himself from the unaccustomed atmosphere 
of sentiment which encompassed him. 

“ Just one moment — Daddy ! ” said Athlyne speaking the 
familiar name with an effort and looking at Joy as he did 
so. The approval shining from her beautiful eyes encour- 
aged him, and he went on more freely: 


LADY ATHLYNE 


310 

Now that our dear Joy is my care I should like to make 
a proposition. The Sheriff’s suggestion is good, and his 
reading of the law seems as if it were all right; but, after 
all, there is no accounting for what judges and juries may 
decide. Now I want^ — and we all want — that there be no 
doubt about this marriage — ^now or hereafter'. And I there- 
fore suggest that presently Joy and I shall again exchange 
Matrimonial Intention and Consent, Or whatever is the 
strongest way that can be devised to insure a flawless mar- 
riage. We can even write this down and both sign it, and 
you and the Sheriff and Judy shall witness. So that what-* 
ever has been before — though this will not disturb it — ^will 
be made all taut and secure ! ” Joy’s comment was : 

‘‘ And I shall be married to my husband a second 
time ! ” 

“Yes, darling” said Athlyne putting his arm round her 
and drawing her close to him. She came willingly and put 
her arms round him. They embraced and kissed each other 
and he said: 

“Yes darling; but wait a moment, I have a further sug- 
gestion. In addition to this we can have a ‘ regular ’ mar- 
riage to follow these two irregular ones. I shall go to 
London and get a special license from the Archbishop of 
Canterbury, who is a connection of my own. With this 
we shall have a religious marriage to supplement the civil 
ones. We can be married, sir, in your own rooms, or in 
a church, just as Joy wishes — and, of course, as her niother 
and her Daddy wish. We can be married the third time, 
Joy darling, in Westminster Abbey if you so desire f” 

“ Anywhere you choose — darling ! ” she spoke the last 
word shyly “ will be what I wish. I am glad I am t(> be 
married three times to you.” 

“ Why darling?” 

“ Because darling ” she spoke the word now without shy- 
ness or hesitation. “ I love you enough for three hus- 
bands ; and now we must have three honeymoons ! ” she 


THE HATCHET BURIED 31 1 

danced about the room gaily, clapping her hands like a 
happy child. 

When they were ready to go to breakfast Colonel Ogilvie 
instinctively offered his arm to Joy, but catching sight of 
Athlyne drew back and motioned to him to take the honour- 
able place. The husband was pleased, but seeing a new 
opening for conciliation he said heartily : 

“ No, no. I hope the time will never come when my 
wife won’t love to go with her father ! ” The old man was 
pleased and called to his daughter : 

“ Come, little girl, you have got to take us both ! ” She 
took her husband’s arm as well as her father’s ; and all three 
moved towards the door. When they got there, however, 
some change was necessary, for it was not possible to pass 
through three abreast. Each of the men was willing to 
give place to the other ; but before either man could move, 
of indeed before either had his mind made up what to do, 
the quicker-witted woman slipped back behind them. There 
taking Athlyne’s hand in hers she had placed it on her 
father’s arm. As they both were about to protest against 
going in front of her she said hastily : 

Please, please Daddy and . . . Husband I would 
really rather you two went first, and arm in arm as father 
and son should go. For that is what it is to be from this 
on; isn’t it? I would rather a thousand times see the 
two men I love best in all the world going so, than walk 
in front of them as a Queen.” 

“ That’s very prettily said ! ” was the comment of her 
father. Then with a fond look back at her he took the 
young man’s hand from his own arm and placed his own 
hand on the other’s arm. “ That’s better ! ” he said. “ Age 
leaning on Youth, and Beauty smiling on both! ” 

And in this wise they entered the Sheriff’s room, in 
time to see him sitting at one end of the sofa and Judy 
sitting at the furthest corner away from him — ^blushing. 


CHAPTER XXIII 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 

As the trio entered the room Judy jumped from the sofa 
vivaciously. The Sheriff followed with an agility wonder- 
ful in a man of his age; he bade them all welcome with a 
compelling heartiness. Judy was full of animation ; indeed 
she out-did herself to a degree which made Joy raise her 
eyebrows. Joy was a sympathetic soul, and unconsciously 
adapted herself to her Aunt’s supra-vivacity. 

To Colonel Ogilvie, less enthusiastic by nature and con- 
cern, it appeared that she was as he put it in his own mind 
“ playing up to the old girl.” He seemed to realise that the 
Sheriff was ardent in his intentions; and, with the calm, 
business-like aptitude of a brother-in-law to a not-young 
lady, had already made up his mind to give his consent. 

Judy flew to Joy and kissed her fervently. The kisses 
were returned with equal warmth, and the two women 
rocked in each other’s arms, to the envy, if delight, of cer- 
tain of the onlookers viewing the circumstance from dif- 
ferent standpoints. Judy took her niece to the now-vacated 
sofa, and an animated whispering began between them. 
Joy’s attention was, however, distracted ; her senses had dif- 
ferent objectives. Her touch was to Judy sitting beside 
her and holding her close in a loving embrace; her ears 
were to her father who was talking to the Sheriff. But 
her eyes were all with her husband, devouring him. There 
came a timid knock at the door, and in answer to the Sher- 
iff’s “ Come in,” it was partly opened. The voice of the 
landlady was heard : “ May I speak with ye a moment. 
Sheriff ? ” He went over to the door, and a whispered col- 

312 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


313 


loquy ensued, all his guests turning their eyes away and 
endeavouring in that way, as usual, to seem not to be 
listening. Then the Sheriff, having closed the door, 
said: 

“ Our good hostess tells me that there will be a full half 
hour of waiting before we can breakfast, if she is to have 
proper time to do justice to the food which she wishes to 
place before us. So I must ask pardon of you all.” 

“ Capital ! Capital ! ” said Colonel Ogilvie, “ that half 
hour is just what we want. Mr. Sheriff, we have a little 
ceremony to go through before we breakfast. The fact is 
we are going to have an Irregular Marriage. If you are 
able to take part in such a thing I hope you will assist us.” 
Joy rose up and stood beside Athlyne. The Sheriff 
answered : 

“ Be quite easy on that point, sir. I am not in my own 
shrieval district, and so, even if such were contra to my 
duties at home, I am free to act as an individual elsewhere. 
But who are the contracting parties? You are married al- 
ready ; so too are your daughter and my Lord Athlyne. In- 
deed it looks. Miss Hayes, as if you and I are the only 
available parties left. But I fear such great happiness is 
not for me ; though I would give anything in the wide world 
to win it ! ” He bowed to her gallantly and took her hand. 
She looked quite embarrassed — though not distressed, and 
giggled like a schoolgirl. 

‘‘ Indeed, Mr. Sheriff ! ” she said, “ this is very sudden. 
Affairs of the heart seem to move quickly in this delightful 
country!” As she spoke she looked at Joy and Athlyne 
who happened to be at the moment standing hand in hand. 
Joy came over and sat beside her and kissed her. Athlyne, 
in obedience to a look from his wife, kissed her too. Then 
the Colonel gallantly followed suit. There was only the 
Sheriff left, and he, after a pause, took advantage of the 
occasion and kissed her also. Then to relieve her manifest 
embarrassment he spoke out: 


314 


LADY ATHLYNE 


“ I fear I have diverted your purpose, Colonel Ogilvie. 
I am not sorry for it ” — this with a look at Judy which made 
her blush afresh “ but I apologize. I take it that you were 
alluding to something in which I am to have a less prom- 
inent part than I have suggested.” 

“ The marriage, sir, is to be between Lord Athlyne and 
my daughter.” As he spoke Athlyne went to a side taole 
whereon were spread the Sheriff’s writing materials. He 
took a sheet of paper and began to write. Colonel Ogilvie 
went on: 

‘‘ We have come to the conclusion that, though the act 
of marriage which has already taken place between these 
two young people is in your view lawful and complete, it 
may be well to go through the ceremony in a more formal 
manner. There are, we all know, intricacies and pitfalls 
in law ; and we are both agreed with the suggestion of my 
lord that it would be well not to allow any loophole for 
after attack. Therefore in your presence — if you will be 
so good,” the Sheriff bowed, they shall again pledge their 
mutual Matrimonial Consent. They will both sign the 
paper to that effect which I see Lord Athlyne is preparing ; 
and we shall all sign it as witnesses. Then, when this new 
marriage is complete^ — and irrefragable as I understand from 
what you said awhile ago it will be — we shall be ready for 
breakfast. It will be more than perhaps you expected when 
you so kindly asked us to be your guests : a wedding break- 
fast!” 

Judy whispered to her niece. 

“ Joy, you must come to your room and let me dress you 
properly. I have brought a dress with me.” 

“ What dress dear ? ” she asked. 

“ The tweed tailor-made.” 

“ But, Judy dear, I have on a white frock, and that is 
more suitable for my wedding.” 

“ That was all right yesterday, dear. But to-day you 
shall not wear white. You are already a married lady; this 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


3^5 

is only a re-marriage.” A beautiful blush swept over Joy’s 
face as she looked at her husband writing away as hard as 
his pen could move. 

** I shall wear white to-day 1 ” she said in the same whis- 
per» and stood up. 

Just at that moment a fly drove quickly past the window. 
It stopped at the hotel door, and there was a sudden bustle 
of arrival. Voices raised to a high pitch were heard out- 
side. Various comments were heard in the room. 

That’s mother 1” 

My wife!” 

Sally!” 

“ WTiy Aunt Judy that’s the voice of Mrs. O’Brien ! ” 
My Foster-mother 1 ” 

The door opened, and in swept Mrs. Ogilvie who flew 
first to her husband’s arms; and then, after a quick em- 
brace, seemed to close round Joy and obliterate her. A sim- 
ilar eclipse took place with regard to Athlyne; for Mrs. 
O’Brien dashed into the room and calling out as though 
invoking the powers of earth and heaven : Me bhoy ! me 

bhoy !” fell upon him. He seemed really glad to see her, 
and yielded himself to her embrace as freely as though he 
had been a child again. 

Joy dear,” said Mrs. Ogilvie “ I hope you are all right. 
After your father and then Judy had gone, I was so anx- 
ious about you, that I got the north mail stopped and 
caught it at Penrith. Just as I was going to get ready for 
the journey Mrs. O’Brien came in. She had written to me 
in London that she would like to pay her respects, and I 
had said- w^e were going on to Ambleside but would be glad 
if she would come and see us there and spend a few days 
with us.” JMrs. O’Brien who was all ears, here cut into the 
con\»ersation : 

“Aye, an Miss Joy acushla, — my service to ye miss! — 
she sent me postal ordhers to cover me railway fare an me 
expinces. Oh ! the kind heart iv her 1 ” 


LADY ATHLYNE 


31^ 

She had by now released Athl>Tie and stood back from 
him pointing at him as she spoke: 

** An comin* here through yer ladyship’s goodness who do 
I find but me beautiful bhoy. Luk at him I Luk at him ! 
Luk at him ! ” Her voice rose in crescendo at each repeti- 
tion, “The finest, dearest, sweetest, bonniest child that 
ever a woman tuk to her breast. An now luk at him well. 
The finest, up-standinest, handsomest, dearest, lovinest man 
that the w’hole wurrld houlds. That doesn’t forget his 
ould fosther mother an him an Earrll, wid castles iv his own, 
an medals on to him an Victory Grasses. An it’s a gineral 
he ought to be. Luk at him, God bless him ! ” She tume( 
to one after another of the party in turn as though inviting 
tlieir admiration. Joy came and, putting her arms round 
the old woman’s neck, hugged and kissed her. When she 
got free, Mrs. O’Brien said to Athlyne: 

“ An phwat are ye doin’ here me darlin’ acushla me 
lord — av I may make so bould as t’ ask ye? How did ye 
come here ; and phwat brung ye that yer ould nurse might 
have her eyes made glad wid sight iv ye ? ” 

“I am here, my dear, because I am married to 
Joy Ogilvie, and we are going to be married 
again ! ” 

Then the storm of comment broke, all the women speak- 
ing at once and in high voices suitable to a momentous 
occasion : 

“What, what?” said Mrs. Ogilvie. “Married to my 
daughter! Colonel Ogilvie, how is it that I w^as not in- 
fonned of this coming event?” 

“ Faith, my dear I don’t know ” he answered “ I never 
knew it — and — ^and I believe they didn’t know it themselves 
. . . till the moment before it was done.” He added the 
last part of the sentence in deference to the Sheriffs direc- 
tion as to * intention.’ Fortunately the Sheriff had not heard 
his remarlt. 

“ Do explain yourself, Lucius. I am all anxiety.” 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


317 

" My dear, yesterday Joy made an irregular marriage 
with Lord Athlyne I ” 

" Good God I ” The exclamation gave an indication of 
the social value of irregular” marriage to persons un- 
acquainted with Scottish law. Her husband saw that she 
was pained and tried to reassure her: 

You need not distress yourself, my dear. It is all right. 
* Irregular ’ is only a name for a particular form of marriage 
in this Country. It is equally legal with any other mar- 
riage.” 

“But who is Lord Athlyne, and where is he? That is 
the name of the man who Mrs. O’Brien told Joy was the 
only man good enough for her.” 

“ Lord Athlyne ” said Colonel Ogilvie “ at present our 
son-in-law% in none other than Mr. Richard Hardy with 
w'hom you shook hands just now!” 

“ Lucius, I am all amazed 1 There seems to be a sort 
of network of mystery all round us. But one thing: if Joy 
was married yesterday how^ on earth can she be going to 
be married to-day ? ” 

“ To avoid the possibility of legal complications later 
on! It is all right, my dear. You may take it from me 
that there is no cause for concern ! But there were certain 
things, usually attended to beforehand, w^hich on this occa- 
sion — owdng to ignorance and hurr}* and unpremeditation — 
were not attended to. In order to prevent the possibility of 
anything going wrong by any quibble, they are to be married 
again just now.” 

“Where? w'hen?” 

“ Here, in this room I ” 

“ But whereas the clergyman ; where is the license ? ” 

“ There is neither. This is a Scottish marriage ! Later 
on we can have a regular church marriage with a bishop if 
you w'ish or an archbishop; in a church or a room or a 
Cathedral — just as you prefer,” Mrs. Ogilvie perceptibly 
stiffened as he spoke. Then she said, with what she thought 


3i8 lady ATHLYJTE 

was ^igniSed gravity, which seemed io others hkc Irigid 
acidity : 

** Do I understand, Colonel Ogilvie, that you are a con- 
senting party to another * irregular * ” — she quivered as she 
said the word— “ marriage ? And that my daughter is to 
be made a laughing stock amongst all our acquaintances 
by three different marriages ? ” 

" That is so, my dear. It is for Joy’s good I ** 

'*Her good? Fiddlesticks! But in that case I have 
nothing more to say ! ” Some of her wrath seemed to be 
turned on both Athlyne and Joy; for she did not say a 
single word to either of them. She simpl}* relapsed into 
stony silence. 

Mrs. O’Brien’s reception of the news afforded what might 
be termed the “ comic relief ” of the strained situation. She 
raised her hands, as though in protest to heaven for allow- 
ing such a thing, and emitted a loud w^ail such as a 
“keener” raises at an Irish wake. Then she burst into 
voluble speech; 

“ Oh wirrasthrue me darlin’ bhoy, is it a haythen Turk y’ 
are becomin*, to take another wife whin ye’ve got one 
already only a day ould. An such a w^an more betoken — 
the beautifullest darlinest young cratur what iver I seen ! 
Her that I picked out long ago as the only wan that ye 
was good enough for. Shure, couldn’t ye rist content wid 
Miss Joy, me darlin’? It’s lookin’ forward I Avas to nursin’ 
her childher, as I nursed yerself me lord darlin’^ her 
childher, an yours! An’ now it’s another woman steppin’ 
in betune ye ; an’ maybe there’ll be no childher ;at all, at 
all. Wirrasthrue ! ” 

“ But look here, Nanny,” :said Athlyne wdth some im- 
patience. “ Can’t you see that you’re all wrong. It is to 
Joy diat I am going to marr>^ again! There’s no other 
woman coming in between us. ’Tis only the dear girl 
herself ! ” 

“ Ah, that’s all very well, me lord darlin* ; but which iv 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


319 


them is to be the mother? Faix but I’ll go an ax her 
Ladyship this minit ! ” And go she did, to Athlyne’s con- 
sternation and Joy’s embarrassment. All in a hurry she 
started up and went over to the sofa where Joy sat, and 
with a bob curtesy said to her: 

‘‘ Me lady, mayn’t I have the nursin’ av yer childher, the 
way I had their father before them? Though, be the 
same token, it’s not the same nursin’ I can give thim, 
wid me bein’ ould an’ rhun dhry ! ” Joy felt that the only 
thing to do was to postpone the difficulty to a more con- 
venient season, when there should not be so many eyes — 
some of them strange ones — on her. To do this as kindly 
and as brightly as she could, she said : 

“ But dear Mrs. O’Brien, isn’t it a little soon to think- — 
or at any rate to speak — of such things ? ” 

Wasn’t ye married yisterday ? ” interrupted the old 
woman. But looking at her lady’s cheeks she went on in a 
different tone: 

‘‘ But me darlin’ — Lady, it’s over bould an’ too contagious 
for me to mintion such things, as yit. But I’ll take, if I 
may, a more saysonable opportunity to ask ye to patther- 
nise me. Some time whin ye’re more established as a wife 
thin ye are now I ” 

“ Indeed ” said Joy kindly. “ I shall only be too happy 
to have you near me. And if I — if we are ever blessed 
with a little son I hope you will try to teach him to be as 
like his-r^ — ” she stopped, blushing, but after a short pause 
went on “ as like my dear husband as ever you can ! ” 
There was a break in her voice which moved the old woman 
strongly. She lifted the slim fine young hand to her with- 
ered lips and kissed it fervently. 

Glory be to God ! me Lady, but it’s the proud woman 
I’ll be to keep and guard the young Earrll. An’ I’ll give 
my life for him if needs be ! ” 

“ Come now I ” said the Sheriff who had been speaking 
with Colonel Ogilvie and Athlyne, and who had read over 


LADY ATHLYNE 


320 

the paper written by the latter. “ Come now all you good 
people! All sit round the room except you two principals 
to this solemn contract. You two stand before me and read 
over the paper. You, my Lord, read it first; and then you 
too, my Lady, do the same ! ” They sat round as they 
wished. Joy and Athlyne stood up before the Sheriff, who 
was also standing. Instinctively they took hands, and 
Athlyne holding the paper in his left hand, read as fol- 
lows : 

“ We Calinus Patrick Richard Westerna Mowbray Hardy 
Fitzgerald, Earl of Athlyne, Viscount Roscommon and 
Baron Ceann-da-Shail and Joy Fitzgerald or Ogilvie late of 
Airlville in the State of Kentucky, United States of Amer- 
ica, agree that we shall be and are united in the solemn 
bonds of matrimony according to the Law of Scotland and 
that we being of one mind as to the marriage, are and hereby 
declare ourselves man and wife. 

Witness of above 

We the undersigned hereby declare that we have in the 
presence of the above signatories and of each other seen 
the foregoing signatures appended to this deed by the 
signatories themselves in our presence and in the presence 
of each other. 

Alexander Fenwick (Sheriff of Galloway). 

Lucius Ogilvie (father of the bride). 

Mary Hayes Ogilvie (mother of the bride). 

Bedelia Ann O’Brien, widow (formerly nurse and foster 
mother to the bridegroom). 

Judith Hayes (aunt of the bride).’’ 

When the document was completed by the signatures the 
Sheriff, having first scanned it carefully, offered it to Col- 
onel Ogilvie, who raising a protesting hand said : 

No, no, Mr. Sheriff I I think we should all prefer that 
it should be kept in your custody, if you will so oblige us.” 

“ With the greatest pleasure ” he said ; and Athlyne and 
Joy having consented to the scheme he folded the document 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


321 


and put it into his pocket. Just then the landlady, having 
knocked and being bidden to enter, came into the room 
followed by several maids and men bearing dishes. 

‘‘ And now to breakfast ” he went on. Will the Bride 
kindly sit on my right hand, with her Husband next her. 
Mrs. Ogilvie, will you honour me by sitting on my left, with 
Colonel Ogilvie to support you on the other side. Miss 
Hayes will you kindly sit on Lord Athlyne’s right.” ‘‘ And 
Mrs. . . . Mrs. O’Brien,” whispered Judy. He went on: 

“ Mrs. O’Brien will you sit on Colonel Ogilvie’s left.” 

“ ’Deed an’ I’ll not ! ” said the Irishwoman sturdily. 

“ Do you mean ” asked Colonel Ogilvie icily “ that you do 
not care to sit next to me individually ? ” 

‘‘ Faix an’ I don’t mane anything so foolish yer ’ann’r. 
Why should the likes o’ me dar to object to the likes iv you? 
All I mane, sorr, is that an ould Biddy like me isn’t fit 
to sit down alongside the quality — let alone an Earrll and 
his Laady whose unborn childher I’m to nurse. An’, more 
betoken, on such an owdacious occasion — shure an I don’t 
mane that but such a suspicious occasion.” 

'' Mrs. O’Brien ma’am ” said the Sheriff taking her hand 
“ you’re going, I hope to take your place at the table that all 
these good friends wish you to take.” 

“ In troth no yer ” — whispering to Joy what’s a Sheriff 
called Miss Joy ? Is he ‘ yer Majesty ’ or ‘ me lord ’ or ‘ yer 
ann’r’ or what is he anyhow ? ” “I think he is 'yer honour’ ” 
said Joy. So Mrs. O’Brien continued: "Yer Ann’r. 
Don’t ask me fur to sit down wid the quality where I don’t 
belong. But let me give a hand to these nice girrls and byes 
to shling the hash. Shure it’s a stewardess I am, an ac- 
customed to shovin’ the food.” 

" Nanny ” said Athlyne kindly but in a strong voice " we 
all want you to sit at table with us to-day. And I hope you 
won’t refuse us that pleasure.” 

" Certainly me darlin’ lord ! ” she said instantly. " In 
coorse what plases ye ! ” The Master had spoken ; she was 


322 


LADY ATHLYNE 


content to obey without question. In the meantime Joy 
had been whispering to her mother who now spoke out : 

“ Mr. Sheriff, will you allow me to make a suggestion 
about the places at table ? 

“ With a thousand delights, madam. Pray make whatever 
disposition you think best. I am only too grateful for your 
help.” 

“ Thank you, sir. Well, if you do not mind I should like 
my sister. Miss Hayes, placed next to you; then Colonel 
Ogiivie and myself. On the other side if you will place 
next to my son-in-law his old nurse, I am right sure that 
both will be pleased.” 

“ Hear, hear ! ” said Athlyne. “ Come along, Nanny, and 
sit next your boy ! Joy and I shall be delighted to have you 
close to us. Won't you, darling.” Joy’s answer was quite 
satisfactory to him : 

“ Of course . . . Darling ! ” It was wonderful what a 
world of love she put into the utterance of those two 
syllables. 

The breakfast was a great success, though but few of the 
party ate heartily. Neither Athlyne nor Joy did justice 
to the provender. They whispered a good deal and held 
hands surreptitiously under the table, and their eyes met 
constantly. The same want of appetite seemed to have 
affected both the Sheriff and Judy; but silence and a cer- 
tain restraint and primness were their characteristics. Mrs. 
O’Brien, seated on the very edge of her chair, was too 
proud and too happy to eat. But she was storing up for 
future enjoyment fond memories of every incident, however 
trivial. 

It was mid-day before any move was made. There were 
no speeches — in public, as all considered it would break the 
charm that was over the occasion if anything so overt took 
place. When all is understood, speech becomes almost 
banal. But there were lots of whisperings; whispers as 
soft in their tone as their matter was sweet. No one ap- 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


. 323 


peared to notice any one else at such moments; though be 
sure that there were words and tones and looks that were 
remembered later by the receivers, and looks and movements 
that were remembered by the others. Judy and the Sheriff 
had much to say to each other. Ample opportunity was 
given from the fact that the newly married pair found them- 
selves occupied with each other almost exclusively. Oc- 
casionally, of course, Joy and the Sheriff conversed; but 
as a working rule he was quite content to devote himself 
to Judy who seemed quite able to hold up her end of the 
serious flirtation. When finally the party broke up, pre- 
paratory to setting out for the south, the Sheriff asked 
Colonel Ogilvie if it might be possible that he should join 
in travel with the party, as he wished to spend a few days 
in Ambleside — a place which he had not visited for many 
years. Colonel Ogilvie cordially acquiesced. He was 
pretty sure by now that the meeting of Judy and this new 
friend would end in a match, and he was glad to do anything 
which might result in the happiness of his sister-in-law 
of whom he was really fond. But it was not on this account 
only that he made him welcome. The reaction from his evil 
temper was on him. Conscience was awake and pricking 
into him the fact that he had behaved brutally. His mind 
did not yet agree in the justice of the verdict; but that 
would doubtless come later. He now wished to show to all 
that there was quite another side of his character. In this 
view he pressed that the Sheriff should be his guest. The 
other was about to object when he realised that by accept- 
ing he would be one of the household, and so much closer 
to Judy, and more and oftener in her society than would 
otherwise be possible. So he accepted gladly, and he and 
the Colonel soon became inseparable — except when Judy 
was speaking ! In such case Colonel Ogilvie often felt him- 
self rather left out in the cold. At the beginning of breakfast 
Athlyne had learned from Joy of the abandonment of the 
motor, and he had accordingly sent his father-in-law’s 


3^4 


LADY ATHLYNE 


chauffeur, with his pilot, to bring it back. They had to 
travel in a horse carriage; he could not drive two motors 
at once, and the pilot could not drive one. In due course 
the motor was retrieved, and having been made clean and 
taut by the ‘‘ first-class mechanicien and driver ” was ready 
for the road. Colonel Ogilvie’s motor was also ready, and 
as the pilot could now be left to travel home by train so 
that the owner could sit by his chauffeur, there would be 
room for the new guest to sit between the two ladies in the 
tonneau. When he mentioned this arrangement, however, 
the Sheriff did not jump at it, but found difficulties in the 
way of incommoding the ladies. . At last he said : 

“ I hope you will excuse me, Ogilvie, but I had already 
formed a little plan which I hoped with your sanction and 
that of your wife, to carry out. Before breakfast I — Miss 
Hayes and I had been talking of the old manner of posting. 
Her idea had, I think, been formed by seeing prints of break- 
downs of carriages in run-away matches to Gretna Green, 
and I suggested ... In fact I ventured to offer to drive 
her in old-fashioned postal style to Ambleside, and let her 
see what it was like. I have in my house at Galloway a 
fine old shay that my father and mother made their wedding 
trip in. It has always been kept in good trim, and it is 
all right for the journey. As Sheriff I have post-boys in 
my employ for great occasions and I have good horses 
of my own. So when J . . . Miss Hayes accepted my offer 
... of the journey, I wired off to have the trap sent down 
here. Indeed it should arrive within a very short time. I 
have also wired for relays of horses to be ready at Dum- 
fries, Annan, Carlisle and Patterdale, so that when we start 
we should go without a hitch. My boys know the road, 
and four horses will spin us along in good style — even if we 
cannot keep up with your motor.” So it was arranged 
that the pilot could occupy his old place with the chauffeur ; 
and the Colonel and Mrs. Ogilvie would travel in the 
tonneau. Darby and Joan fashion. This settlement of affairs 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


325 


had only been arrived at after considerable discussion. 
When her father had told Joy that she was to ride with her 
mother, she had spoken out at once — without arrangement 
with Athlyne or even consultation with him: 

Athlyne will drive me, and we can take Mrs. O’Brien 
with us. There is stacks of room in the tonneau, and we 
have no luggage. I am sure my husband would like to have 
her with us.” 

But when the arrangement was mentioned to the foster' 
mother she refused absolutely to obey any such order: 

“ What ” she said “ me go away in the coach wid the 
bride and groom ! An ould corrn-crake like me wid the 
quality; an this none other than me own darlin’ lord and 
Miss Joy that I’m going to nurse the childher iv her. No, 
my Lady, I’ll do no such thing ! Do ye think I’m goin’ to 
shpoil shport when me darlin’ does be drivin’ wid his beau- 
tiful wife by him an’ him kissin’ her be the yard an’ the mile 
an’ the hour, an’ huggin’ her be the ton, as he ought to be 
doin’, or he’s not the man I’ve always tuk him for. Shure 
ma’am ” this to Mrs. Ogilvie “ this is their day an’ their 
hour ; an’ iviry minit iv it is goold an dimons to them ! I’m 
tellin’ ye, I’d liefer put me eyes on Styx than do such a 
thing ! ” Mrs. Ogilvie, who recognised the excellence of 
her ideas, said: 

Then you must come with the Colonel and me. We’ve 
loads of room, and we are all alone.” 

“ An’ savin’ yer presence, so ye should be ma’am whin 
ye’re seein’ yer daughter goin’ aff wid her man. There’s 
loads iv things you and your man will want to be talkin’ 
about. Musha! if it’s only rememberin’ what ye said an’ 
done whin ye was aff on yer own honeymoon. Mind ye, 
ma’am, it’s not bad talkin’ or rememberin’, that’s not! No 
motors for me, ma’am — to-day at any rate. I’ll go by the 
thrain that I kern’ by ; an’ when I get to yer hotel, if I’m 
before ye. I’ll shtraighten out things for ye, an’ have the 
rooms nice an’ ready. For mind ye, ma’am, me darlin’ 


LADY ATHLYNE 


326 

Lord tould me that he’s goin’ to have a gran’ weddin’ to 
Miss Joy whin he gets his license ! Be the way, does he get 
that, can ye tell me ma’am, from the polls or where the 
sheebeeners gits theirs? An’ av there’s goin’ to be a wed- 
din’ wid flowers an’ gowns an’ veils an’ things in church, 
I suppose they won’t be too previous about cornin’ together. 
Musha! but’s it’s a quare sort iv ways the quality has! 
Weddin’s here be the Sheriff, an’ thin be bishops, an’ wid 
licenses. An’ him in Bowness — for that’s where he tells 
me he’s shtoppin’ — an’ his wife in Ambleside — on their wed- 
din’ night ! Begob I Ireland’s changin’ fast, fur that usen’t 
to be the way. I’m thinkin’ that the Shinn-Fayn’ll have to 
wake up a bit if that’s the way things is going to go. Or 
else there’ll be millea murther, from the Giant’s Causeway 
to Cape Clear ! ” As Mrs. Ogilvie did not wish to discuss 
this part of the question herself, she beckoned over Athlyne 
and told him that Mrs. O’Brien had refused to go in his 
motor. 

“Not even if I ask you or tell you to?” he said to 
the old woman, having not the least intention of doing 
either. 

“ Not even thin, me Lord darlin’ ” she said with a cheery 
smile. “ An’ I’m thinkin’ it’s thankin’ me — you an’ yer 
lovely wife too — ’ll be before ye’re well out of sight of this 
place. Faix it’s a nice sort iv ould gooseberry I’d be, sittin’ 
in the carriage wid me arrums foulded, wid me darlin’ Lord 
sittin’ in front dhrivin’ like a show-flure in a shute iv 
leather. An’ his bride beside him, wid her arrums round 
him bekase both his own is busy wid the little wheel; an’ 
her wondhrin’, wid tears in her beautiful grey eyes, why he 
doesn’t kiss her what she’s pinin’ fur. Augh ! no ! Not me, 
this time ! I was a bride meself — wanst. An’ I know bet- 
ther nor me young Lady does now, what is what on the 
weddin’ day afther the words is said. Though she’ll pick 
up, so she will. She’s not the soort that’ll be long lamin’ I 
Musha . . .” Her further revelations and prophesyings 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


327 

W€re cut short by Athlyne’s kissing her and saying “ Good- 
bye 

If the journey up North had been Fairyland, the journey 
southward was Heaven for both the young people. Athlyne 
felt all the triumph of a conqueror If he had sung out loud, 
as he would like to have done, his song would have been 
a war-song rather than a love-song. There was the elan 
of the conqueror about him ; the stress of love-longing and 
love-pining were behind him. The battle was won, and his 
conqueror's booty was beside him, well content to be in his 
train. Still even conqueror's love has its duties as well as 
its right, and he was more tender than ever to Joy. She, 
sitting beside him in all the radiancy of her new found wife- 
hood, felt that their hearts were beating together; and that 
their thoughts swayed in unison. When her eyes would be 
lifted from the lean, strong, brown hands gripping the 
steering wheel — for in the rush of departure he had other 
things to think of than putting on the gloves which were 
squeezed behind him in his seat — and would look up into 
his face she would feel a sort of electric shock as his eyes, 
leaving for a moment their steering duty, would flash into 
hers with a look of love which made her quiver. But 
presently when his yielding to affection had been tested, 
and even her curiosity had been satisfied, she ceased such 
sudden looks. She realized his idea of the gravity of the 
situation when she saw, as his eyes returned to their neces- 
sary task, the hard look become fixed on his eagle face — the 
look which to one engaged in his task means safety to those 
under his care. She was all sympathy with him now. She 
was content that his will should prevail; that his duty 
should be the duty of both ; that her service was to help him. 
And the first moment she realized this, she sighed happily 
as she sank back in her seat, her lover-rapture merged in 
wife-content. She had compensation for the foregoing in 
the exercise of her own pride. From her present standpoint 
all that came within the scope of her senses was supremely 


LADY ATHLYNE 


328 

beautiful. The mountains grey and mysterious in their 
higher and further peaks; the dark woods running flame- 
like up into the glory of the mountain colouring ; the scent 
of the new-mown hay, drifted across the track by the 
bracing winds sweeping over the hills ; the glimmering sap- 
phire of the water as they swept by lake or river, or caught 
flashes of the distant Forth through long green valleys. 
They went fast; Athlyne’s wild excitement — the echo of 
the battle-phrenzy that had won him distinction on the 
field — found some relief in speed. He had thrown open the 
throttle of his powerful engine and swept along at such a 
speed that the whole landscape seemed to fly by the rush- 
ing car, giving only momentary glimpses of even the most 
far-flung beauty. He did not fear police traps now. He 
did not fear anything! Even the car seemed to have 
yielded itself like a living thing to the spell of the situation. 
Its wheels purred softly as it swept along, and the speed 
made a wind which seemed to roar in the ears of the two 
who were one. 

Joy felt that she had a right to be content. This journey 
was of her own choosing entirely. The fanner of it had 
been this: when the party had been arranged for starting 
her father had said to Athlyne: 

“ When you get to Ambleside, as I suppose you will 
do before us, will you give orders to have everything ready 
for our party. You can do this before you drive over to 
Bowness. You can come over to dinner if you like. I 
suppose you and Joy will want to see something of each 
other — all you can indeed, before the wedding comes off. 
That can be as soon as you like after you have got the 
license.” To this he had replied: 

“ I should like to — and shall — do anything I can, sir, to 
meet your wishes. But I cannot promise to do anything 
now, on quite my own initiative. You see our dear girl 
has to be consulted ; and I need not tell you that her wishes 
must prevail — so far as I am concerned 1 ” 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


329 

“ Quite right, my boy ! Quite right ! said the old man. 

Then we shall leave the orders to her. Here, Joy ! ” she 
came over, and her father put his suggestion to her. She 
hesitated gravely, and paused before she spoke; she evi- 
dently intended that there should be no mistake as to her 
deliberate intention: 

“ No ! Daddy, that won't do ; Fm going with my hus- 
band ! She took his arm and clung to him lovingly, her 
finger tips biting sweetl}’ into his flesh. ** But, Daddy dear, 
we'll come over to-morrow and lunch or breakfast with 
you, if we may. Call it early lunch or late breakfast. We 
shall be over about noon. Remember we have to come 
from Bowness!” 

Athlyne seemed to float in air as he heard her. There 
W’as something so sw'eetly — so truly wifely, in her words 
and attitude that it won to his heart and set him in a state of 
rapture. 

The late breakfast at Ambleside next day, though osten- 
sibly a mere family breakfast, was hardly to be classed in 
that category. It was in reality regarded by all the family 
at present resident in that town as a wedding breakfast. 
They had one and all dressed themselves for the occasion. 
Not in complete marriage costume, \vhich would have 
looked a little overdone, but in a modified form which 
sufficiently expressed in the mind of each the prevailing 
spirit of rejoicing. A few seconds before noon the toot 
toot ” of .Athlyne’s powerful hooter was heard some distance 
off. All rushed to the window’s to see the great red car 
sw’ing round the corner. The chauffeur was driving; the 
bride and groom sat in the tonneau. As Athlyne w’as not 
driving he w’ore an ordinary morning dress — a w’ell-cut 
suit of light grey w’hich set out wxll his tall, lithe powerful 
figure. Joy w^as wTapped in a huge motor coat of soft grey, 
w ith her head shrouded in a veil of the same colour. In the 
hall they both took off their w^raps, Athlyne helping his wife 


330 


LADY ATHLYNE 


with the utmost tenderness. When they came into the 
room they made a grey pair, for with the exception of 
Athlyne's brown eyes and hair and a scarlet neck tie, and 
Joy's dark hair and a flash of the same scarlet as her hus- 
band’s on her breast, they were grey — all grey. It would 
seem as if the whole colour-scheme of the couple had been 
built round Joy's eyes. She certainly looked lovely; there 
was a brilliant colour in her cheeks, and between her scar- 
let lips her teeth, when she smiled, flashed like pearls. She 
was in a state of buoyancy, seeming rather to float about 
than to move like a being on feet. She was all sweetness 
and affection, and flitted from one to another, leaving a 
wake of beaming happiness behind her. 

Athlyne too was manifestly happy ; but in quieter fashion, 
as is the way of a man. He was not overt or demonstra- 
tive in his attention to Joy ; but his eyes followed her per- 
petually, and his ears seemed to hear every whisper re- 
garding her. Her eyes too, kept turning to him where er 
she might be or to whom speaking. Judy at first stood 
beaming at the pair with a look of proprietary interest : 
but after a while she began to be a trifle nettled by the 
husband’s absorption in her niece. This feeling culminated 
when as Joy tripped slightly on the edge of the hearth-rug 
her husband started towards her with a swift movement 
and with that quick intake of breath which manifests 
alanned concern. Judy's impulsiveness found its expres- 
sion in a semi-humorous, semi-sarcastic remark: 

“ Why Athlyne you seem to look on the girl as if she 
was brittle! You weren’t like that yesterday when you 
flashed her away from us at sixty miles an hour ! ” For a 
moment there was silence and all eyes were fixed on Joy 
who looked embarrassed and turn rosy-red. Athlyne to 
relieve her drew their attention on himself: 

“ No, my dear Judy — Fm not ever going to call you any- 
thing else you know. She wasn’t my wife then ! ” 

“ W’asn't she ! ” came the answer tartly spoken. She 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


331 

was just as much your wife then. She had been married 
to you only twice! And the first marriage was good 
enough for anything. I know that is so, for my sheriff 
says so ! — Oh . . ** The ejaculation was due to the shame 
of sudden recognition of her confession. She blushed 
furiously; the Sheriff, looking radiantly happy, stepped 
over to her, took her hand, raised it to his lips, and kissed it 

‘‘I think my dear,*' he said slowly and quietly, “that 
constitutes a marriage — if you will have it so?" She 
looked at him shyly and said quietly: 

“ If you like to count it a step on the way — like Joy's 
first marriage, do so — dear ! Then if you like we can make 
it real when Joy becomes a wife — in the Church!" 

Everyone in the room was so interested in this little 
episode that two of them only noticed a queer note of dis- 
sent or expostulation, coming in the shape of a sort of 
modified grunt from the two matrons of tlie party. Said 
Athlyne, still mindful of his intent to protect Joy: 

“All right, Judy. FlI remember: ^niy sheriff,' if there's 
any more chaffing. It seems that he'll be * brittle ' before 
long!" Judy flashed one keen happy glance at him as she 
whispered close in his ear: 

“Don't be ungenerous! " For reply he w'hispered back: 

“ Forgive me — dear. I did not intend to be nast>\ I'm 
too happy for anything of that sort ! " 

As breakfast wore on and the familiarity of domestic life 
followed constraint, matters of the future came on the tapis. 
When Mrs. Ogilvie asked the young couple if they had yet 
settled when the marriage — the church marriage — was to 
come off, Joy looked down demurely at the table cloth as 
her husband answered: 

“ I go up to town early in the morning to get the License. 
It is all in hand and there wdll be no hitch and no delay. 
I had a wire this morning from my solicitor about it; and 
also one from the Archbishop congratulating me. I shall be 
home by the ten ten train on Thursday and we cam have the 


332 


LADY ATHLYNE 


wedding late that afternoon, if you will have the church 
and the parson ready.” 

” But, my dear boy, isn’t that rather sudden ? ” 

‘‘Not sudden enough for me! But really, so far as I 
am concerned, I shall w'ait as long as Joy wishes. Now 
that we are married already, I fancy it doesn’t much matter. 
Only that anything which could possibly bind me closer 
to Joy will always be a happiness to me, I don’t care 
whether we have a third marriage at all. ” Mrs. Ogilvie 
caught her daughter’s eye and answered at once: 

“ So be it then ! Thursday afternoon at six. I suppose 
there can be no objection as to canonical hours?” The 
Sheriff answered: 

“ I can tell you that. The License of the Archbishop 
goes through and beyond all canonical hours and all 
places — in South Britain of course. Armed with that in- 
strument you can celebrate the marriage when and where 
you will,” Joy and Athlyne were by this time holding 
hands and whispering. 

” Of course Joy will stay with us till then — Athlyne.” 
Mrs. Ogilvie spoke the last word with a pause; it was the 
first time she had used his name. ^ 

“ Not ‘ of course.’ ” he answered. “She is the head of 
her house now and must be free to do as she please. But 
I am sure she will like to come to you.” Joy made a pro- 
testing “ litoue ” at him as she said : 

“ Of course I’d like to be with Mother and Daddy, and 
Judy — if I — if I am not to be with you — Oh, darling! 
you’re hurting me. You’re so frightfully strong!” 

Breakfast being over, the party broke up and moved 
about the room. Joy was sitting on the sofa with her 
Mother when Mrs. O’Brien came sidling up by the wall. 
When she got close she curtsied and said: 

“ Won’t ye tell me now, me Lady, if I’m to be the wan 
to nurse yer childher ? ” 

“ Oh dear ! But Mrs. O’Brien, I said only yesterday that 


A HARMONY IN GRAY 


333 

I’d tell you that some other time. You are previous I — 
Didn’t you hear that I am to be married on Thursday. 
Later on . . 

‘*No time like the prisint, me Lady. It was yistherday 
ye shpoke ; an to-day’s to-day. Mayn’t I nurse yer ch . . 

“ Tell her, dear — her Mother had begun, when Judy 
joined the group. 

What’s all this about? Whose children are you talking 
of?” began the merry spinster. But her sister cut her 
short : 

Never you mind, Judy! You just go and sit down and 
try and get accustomed to silence so as to be ready to keep 
your Sheriff out of an asylum.” Athlyne, too, with ears 
pretematurally sharp on Joy’s account, had heard some- 
thing of the conversation. Looking over at his wife, he 
saw her face divinely rosy, and with a troubled, hunted 
look in her eyes. He too instantly waded into the fray. 

I say, let her alone you all ! I hope they’re not teasing 
you darling?” Joy, fearing that something unpleasant 
might be said, on one side or the other, made haste to re- 
assure him. 

Then she closed his mouth in the very best w’ay that a 
ydttng wife can do — the way that seems to take his feet 
from earth and to raise him to heaven. 


THE END 







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